


Always

by Lazy8



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Action, Afterlife, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Orpheus and Eurydice Myth, Post-Canon, Psychological Drama, Tournaments, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 58,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2586128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazy8/pseuds/Lazy8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gohan makes his final trip to Otherworld only to find that he and his mentor have been sent to different places, he is determined to get Piccolo back at any cost to himself. But Gohan has severely underestimated just how high that cost may be...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friends in High Places

**Author's Note:**

> There were a couple of inspirations for this story. I took a lot of inspiration from the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, which is appropriate given that the idea first popped into my head when the song "Eurydice" by Sleepthief first played on my Pandora station.
> 
> The other inspiration, oddly enough, was GT. I haven't seen any of the show beyond a few clips, but I do know that Piccolo died permanently, that he somehow ended up in Hell, and that Goku vowed to return someday and get him out. So I just took that idea and ran with it.

"Gohan! Hey, Gohan!"

Gohan whipped around, turning away from Yemma's desk, and there he was: spiky black hair, muscled arms, fighting gi that was an eye-blinding shade of orange…

…and a smile that lit up his entire face, reaching all the way to his eyes.

His father hadn't changed one bit. The only thing different was the halo hovering above his spiky black hair, identical to the one that Gohan knew he must also be wearing.

" _Dad!_ "

Suddenly there were tears leaking from Gohan's eyes, and he made no effort to stop them as he barreled straight into the man he had been yearning to see for twenty years and more, knowing the collision wouldn't hurt him one bit. He buried his face in the other man's shoulder as a pair of strong arms encircled him, sobbing as he relaxed in his father's embrace for the first time in far too long.

"Dad," he choked out, "I missed you…"

"I know, son." Callused hands came to rest on his shoulders and gently pushed him back, so that they were standing eye to eye. "You've grown up. It seems like the last time I saw you…"

"It's been over twenty years," Gohan said softly.

"That long? Really?" His father shook his head, seeming dazed, but just as quickly the solemnity faded from his voice, and his face was once again covered by that goofy, trademark grin. "Well, I'm sure the others are all waiting to see you. How about we go home?"

Gohan sniffled, wiping a fresh onslaught of tears from his eyes before he replaced his glasses. "Yeah," he replied, though he was sure that his smile was still somewhat watery. "Let's do that."

One of his father's hands remained on his shoulder; the other, he moved to his face, bringing two fingers to his forehead…

…and in an instant the long winding road, the yellow clouds, the drop into nowhere, all had vanished. In their place was a wide expanse of green, and as far as the eye could see there were long-dead warriors from all over the galaxy, training, meditating, sparring in pairs or in groups. Gohan gaped as he took it all in.

"Amazing, isn't it?" His father grinned and clapped him once more on the shoulder before letting him go. "All of the galaxy's heroes come here to train after they die and, well, you definitely count. You don't even have to fight if you don't want to. Even just watching is incredible."

"I'm sure it is." Gohan found that he still couldn't quite get his mouth to shut.

His father grinned once more, surveying the training grounds with a fond expression before he looked into the air, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Guys! Hey, guys! I've got Gohan!"

Immediately a group of blurs descended on them and Gohan found himself surrounded by people, almost as quickly as if they'd used Instant Transmission. Krillin was the first to greet him; he had to levitate just to reach Gohan's eye level, but he threw his arms around Gohan's neck, crying without an ounce of shame. After a few minutes of this Android 18 came up and forcibly pried her husband off of him, in the process offering Gohan an eye roll and a nod that was almost friendly. Yamcha socked him in the shoulder, happily babbling away about how he'd finally found a place where he could hold his own in the ring. Tien and Chiaotzu even took a turn shaking his hand; Gohan was touched, especially since he hadn't known them all that well in life.

Someone was missing.

"Dad?" Gohan craned his neck, trying to peer past the crowd of people that surrounded them. "Dad, where's Piccolo?"

The instant he uttered his old mentor's name, everyone's faces immediately sobered. His father in particular acquired a solemn look that Gohan had only ever seen him adopt in the most crucial of battles.

Subconsciously, he noticed the others begin to tactfully back away as his father's hand came to rest, once again, on his shoulder. "Son," he began, all traces of laughter gone from his voice, "this isn't going to be easy for you to hear…"

A jolt of icy fear shot through Gohan's stomach. He looked into his father's eyes, saw the seriousness, the pain, the very slow and deliberate shake of his head. "Dad," he said firmly, attempting to channel his mother. "What. Happened."

His father sighed, but it was Krillin who answered; he was the only one who hadn't drifted politely out of hearing distance. "Gohan," he said, "there isn't any easy way to put this, but Piccolo… well… he was sent to Hell."

For an instant, time seemed to stop. All of the breath rushed from Gohan's lungs; sounds suddenly seemed to be coming from far away, and the others' faces were sliding in and out of focus…

"Gohan? _Gohan!_ " A pair of fingers snapped right in front of his face, and he jolted out of it with a gasp. He sank to his knees on the grass; his father was supporting him, Krillin's hand was moving in steady circles over his back, and both of their concerned faces were mere inches from Gohan's own.

After a few moments of taking deep, steady breaths, he said the only thing that was in his mind. " _Why?_ "

"Look, I know he's changed," Krillin said, "but you didn't see him at the Twenty-Third—"

Gohan turned the full force of his glare on the former monk, and Krillin gulped and fell silent.

"He killed a lot of people, Gohan." A firm hand beneath his chin forced his head up, and he found himself looking, unwillingly, into his father's eyes. "My master's master gave his life just to seal him away, and after he got free again he would have destroyed the world if I hadn't stopped him." He did not quail under Gohan's mutinous glare. " _You_ know he's changed and _I_ know he's changed, but the people in charge… well, they felt that even with everything he's done since then, it just wasn't enough to make up for his past actions."

"Didn't you even _try_ to help him?" Gohan yanked his chin away, digging his fingers into the grass.

"Of course we did." Krillin was the most sincere person he knew, and right now he was practically radiating understanding and sympathy – and, Gohan thought, more than a little hurt that he hadn't been able to help a friend. "We all pleaded his case before King Yemma. But in the end, it just wasn't enough."

"Instant Transmission—"

"I tried." His father shook his head sadly. "Believe me, I tried. Over and over again. But they've put up a lot of barriers and reinforcements since Buu got in, and it just isn't possible." It was the defeated look on his father's face more than anything that convinced Gohan he was telling the truth, that he really had done his best.

He had failed. For the first time in his life or death, Earth's greatest hero had failed.

"Let me try." Gohan looked up and saw no surprise in their faces, only resignation. They had known all along that he would do this – but they weren't expecting him to succeed. "I completed the whole law school curriculum in a single year," he continued, standing, "and I've had some practice in court as well. Maybe I can do better."

His father continued to hold his gaze, and Gohan knew that he knew that he wasn't going to back down. "I hope that you can," he said, holding out his hand; Gohan grasped it. "In any case, it wouldn't be right not to try." He brought the fingers of his other hand to his forehead, and once again, they vanished.

* * *

And so it was that Gohan found himself back at the Check-In Station, mere minutes after he had left. It appeared to be a slow day; there was only a trickle of souls coming in through the doors, and Gohan could see that most of those were either very old, sickly, or both.

Just another benefit of a world at peace.

"Go ahead, Gohan," his father said, thumping him on the back, "and do what you have to do."

Gohan nodded, striding past the line of incoming souls and up to the elaborate building. His father, though he stayed close, walked slightly behind him, allowing Gohan to take the lead. And lead he did. When he reached the double doors he strode through them as if he owned the place, producing a chorus of startled exclamations from incoming souls and workers alike.

As the ruckus reached King Yemma's ears he looked up from his books, starting as he noticed his guest. "Back so soon?" he rumbled, leaning forward over his desk. "What, did you forget something?"

"No." Gohan crossed his arms, planted his feet shoulder width apart, and looked King Yemma directly in the eye. "I'm here to plead the case of Piccolo Junior, also known as Ma Junior, who was sent to Hell without adequate cause."

Yemma let out a long-suffering sigh, and it voiced his thoughts more plainly than any words could have. _Oh dear Kais, not another one._ "And who," Yemma grumbled, "has come to plead for his freedom _this_ time?"

Gohan drew himself up to his full height. "His son."

Immediately all activity in the room ceased; one could have heard a pin drop in the ringing silence that followed. In that moment when all was still, Gohan risked breaking eye contact to chance a glance back at his father. To Gohan's immense relief there was no hint of jealousy or shock in the other man's face, only a warm encouraging smile. _That's it, son_ , his expression said. _Keep telling him. I'm proud of you._

Gohan shot back a quick, grateful smile of his own before returning his attention to the King of the Afterlife. Yemma remained silent for a few seconds more. Then, deadpan:

"I fail to see the resemblance."

Nobody laughed. Not even his father.

"There's more to family than blood," Gohan countered, stepping forward.

"Family or not," Yemma roared, "I've already said it half a dozen times, and I'll say it again!" He slammed his fist onto the desk. "The trial has already gone through, and Piccolo Junior is not worthy of heaven!"

"And why is that?" Gohan demanded angrily, though he immediately cursed himself for the show of emotion and forced himself to concentrate on regaining control. He would not help Piccolo by losing his temper now.

"You have to ask?" the red ogre demanded. "Again and again, you have to ask! He killed millions of innocent people—"

"That was his father!"

"Whose soul now resides in his body!" Yemma matched Gohan glare for glare.

"As does that of the former Guardian of Earth – pure good to match the Demon King's pure evil."

"Kami himself admitted that no amount of good he could do could even begin to counter the wrongs of his other half!"

"I wouldn't know," Gohan returned. "I wasn't there."

A sad sigh from behind him, however, told him the horrible truth: his father _had_ been there. Yemma was not exaggerating.

"He's made up for it since," Gohan pressed on, horribly aware of the pleading note in his voice, fighting an increasingly desperate battle to retain some semblance of control. "He gave his life to save mine—"

"You've managed to name one selfless deed! One! A single act of self-sacrifice is not enough to make up for a lifetime of wickedness!"

"Are you counting the lifetime he spent defending the Earth?" Gohan felt that if this went on for much longer, he would burst into tears – and that simply would not do. "He helped fight the Saiyans—"

"Because he wanted the planet for himself!"

"Not anymore!" Gohan shouted. "He risked his life to stop Frieza, the androids, Cell—"

"And failed on all of those counts!" Yemma roared. "Your father beat Frieza, Androids 17 and 18 turned of their own accord, and as I recall, _you_ were the one to finish off Cell. Had Piccolo Junior actually _saved_ innocent lives in proportion to those he took, I might reconsider, but as things stand he has not even _begun_ to clear his record!"

"He nearly died to stop Frieza from killing my father!" Gohan shouted back. "He gave his own _ki_ to fuel Dad's Spirit Bomb against Buu! And what's more, he took the lead in supporting me when I was fighting Cell, and that was what gave me the resolve to keep fighting! If not for Piccolo, the universe would have been destroyed several times over!"

"Indirect actions!" Yemma bellowed. "If not for Frieza and Cell, your father would never have gotten strong enough to defeat Buu. Are you suggesting that _they_ deserve heaven as well?"

"Piccolo's intentions were different from theirs!" Why would Yemma not _understand?_

"Intentions don't _matter_ here! Actions do!"

"Then why was he allowed to train with King Kai the first time he died?" Mentally, Gohan crossed his fingers, hoping that a precedent might accomplish what all of his prior reasoning hadn't. "The only good thing he'd done at that point was save my life, yet he was still allowed to keep his body and train with the others until we wished him back."

"He was only allowed _because_ you were going to wish him back!" Gohan's stomach plunged when his trump card failed. "The universe was still in danger at that point, there had been one crisis after another, and we needed as many strong fighters on the ground as we could get. Had you not wished him back, he would have gone straight to Hell as soon as the time limit expired."

"Why him, though?" Gohan demanded. He was fighting a losing battle, he knew, but he was not half-Saiyan for nothing. He was determined to see this through to the bitter end – whatever sort of end that may be. "There are a lot of evil people who have some good in them, some of them stronger than him, who would have defended the Earth given the right incentive. So why Piccolo?"

Judging by the sour look on Yemma's face, Gohan had finally managed to hit a sore point. "Kami called in a favor," he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But don't think," he added, lowering his hand from his face, "that just because I made one exception I'm about to start bending rules all over the place!"

"Actually," said a voice from behind Gohan, "I do believe that this man was once the savior of the universe. If you should be bending the rules for anyone, it's him."

Gohan turned slowly to see who had spoken, hardly daring to believe that he'd gotten another ally. The being now standing next to his father was short, with skin that was a delicate shade of lavender and long white hair. He wore the clothes of a Kai, and even though he looked vaguely familiar Gohan could not quite seem to place him.

"You again," Yemma grumbled. "I should've known you'd stick your nose in where it didn't belong."

"I tend to do that." The newcomer smiled sourly. "At any rate," he continued, coming to stand next to Gohan, "I do believe you owe a boon to the man who once prevented the universe from being obliterated at the hands of Cell."

"You know full well that I have no jurisdiction over Hell!" Yemma snapped. "You Kais saw to that."

The newcomer sighed. "Yes, we did separate the realms of Otherworld to prevent another incident like the one with Buu. But that does not stop you from granting one of your own people right of passage. You do still have that right." The Kai sounded annoyed.

"Very well!" Finally, unbelievably, it seemed Yemma was relenting. "If it will get the lot of you off my back…" He was leafing through a multitude of papers on his desk; finally, he located the form he wanted and started to fill it out with broad strokes, pressing so hard it was a wonder his pen didn't rip right through the paper.

"Here." He tossed the paper irritably at Gohan; Gohan caught it, shocked. The minute the paper touched his skin it vanished, but there was a burning sensation in his left forearm, which began to glow with bright light. As quickly as it had come, however, the glow faded, leaving an intricate pattern of blue marks in its place.

"That will grant you safe passage through the gates of Hell and back," Yemma explained, still with an air of great affront. "If you can negotiate a deal with the new Demon King, you can have him. However," and here he leaned forward, until his face was mere inches from Gohan's own, "if he is to get free, Ma Junior's crimes _will_ have to be paid for, one way or another. There are only so many rules that I can bend."

Gohan was still for a moment, still staring in disbelief at the marks on his arm. The Kai to his left offered him a slight smile. Then:

"Gohan, you did it!" His father was practically bouncing up and down in his excitement. "If anyone can do the impossible, it's you!"

Gohan returned his grin. "I come by it honestly." He turned back to Yemma. "When can I leave for Hell?"

"Whenever you want." Yemma was resting his chin in his hand and still looked decidedly sour. "The sooner, the better," he muttered under his breath.

"Ah ha ha." Gohan rubbed the back of his head. Then, he turned to the Kai who'd helped him out. "Thank you," he said, offering his hand. "Thank you so much."

"You're quite welcome," the short Kai replied, grasping his hand briefly before letting go.

"Forgive me," Gohan said, "you seem to know me, but I can't quite place you. Have we met before?"

"We have," the small being replied, "but I was two people at the time."

"Kibito and the Supreme Kai fused," his father provided. "You remember them, don't you?"

"Of course." Gohan smiled fondly. "How could I forget?" He had thought, at the time, that it would be the last time he ever saw his father until he died himself. "But how—"

The Supreme Kai tapped his earlobe. "Potara earrings," he supplied. "I believe you came quite close to wearing them yourself."

"Oh yeah…"

"Anyway, you had better get going. I can take you to the gates of Hell," his father offered. "I've been down there myself a few times, to sort out newcomers who were causing trouble. The guards know me, so getting you in shouldn't be a problem."

"Thanks, Dad." Gohan smiled. "I don't think I'm really dressed for it, though." He looked ruefully down at his white Oxford shirt, polished loafers, and formal slacks. The outfit was perfect for the courtroom or the office, but not so much for a journey through the most dangerous realm of Otherworld. He turned to the Kai who stood beside him. "Can you still…?"

"Of course." He raised his hand. "Would you like your father's outfit again?"

Gohan, however, shook his head. "Any other time," he said. "But not for this."

The Supreme Kai looked confused. "What, then?"

"You're telepathic, right?" The short Kai nodded. "All right. It'll be easier to just show you."

He removed his glasses, tucked them into his breast pocket, and closed his eyes. After a few seconds of waiting, he felt another mind connect with his. Letting out a breath, Gohan put all of his focus into one image, and one alone.

Suddenly, there was a very familiar tingling sensation all over his body. When he felt the weight settle on his head and shoulders, he knew that Supreme Kai had done as he had asked.

"Thank you." Opening his eyes, Gohan turned to his father. "I'm ready to go now."

The other man nodded; he was smiling, though in a way that was far more solemn than his usual happy-go-lucky grin. "Piccolo was right. That does look good on you." He placed a hand on Gohan's shoulder. "However this turns out, I want you to know that I'm proud to call you my son."

Before Gohan could reply, his father brought his free hand to his forehead, and the Check-In Station winked out as if it had never been.


	2. Through the Gates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration: I... might have been listening to "Enter Sandman" on repeat while I was writing this.

Hell was a dark place.

The darkness made sense, as there was no sun. In some places the blackness was illuminated by eternally burning flames, or by the clouds above Snake Way, but here, at the entrance, the atmosphere was as black as pitch, which made it all the more startling when a sudden square of light appeared.

The minor demons that thrived here in abundance looked up, shielding their slitted eyes. Some screamed at the mere presence of the light and ran away blinded, but those that were able to endure it caught a glimpse of a tall silhouette with a cape billowing out behind it.

The figure stepped forward just as the door closed with a resounding clang, locking the light out once again.

Gohan stood still for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the blackness. After several minutes of staring, however, he had not managed to make out anything more distinct than a few vague outlines. Concentrating his energy into the palm of his hand, he generated a _ki_ ball which he held high above his head. The minute the light fell on the ground it revealed a multitude of shadowy figures that were scattering hastily away.

They would have to do better than that.

After all, he was, in a way, the son of the Demon King himself.

Pushing the light up higher until it floated in place, Gohan took a minute to take stock of his surroundings. The _ki_ he had generated allowed him to see a little bit better – but not by much, as there was not much from which it could reflect. The sky was black. The rocks were black. The entirety of the landscape held not a trace of color.

Well, there was no point in putting it off further. He had come here with a mission. Step by step, Gohan strode forward into Hell, his shoes stirring up dust.

As he walked, he focused his senses. It wasn't long before he managed to pick up on several strong _ki_ signatures. His first thought was that they were unlike anything he had ever felt before, but then he realized that, if anything, they bore a striking semblance to the aura of Dabura.

He had located his goal. If he headed toward the highest density of those signatures, it would lead him to the Demon King – the real Demon King, the ruler of Hell.

What worried him the most, however, was that even after all of his searching, he could not sense Piccolo at all.

With a grimace, Gohan pushed off from the ground and leaped into the air.

Immediately the wind whipped into a violent gale around him, and he was forced to allow the light to go out in favor of shielding his eyes. He could no longer see the things that were coming at him out of the black, but Gohan was far stronger than anything else down here, and he heard several high-pitched cries accompanied by the hasty whirring of wings as the residents of this place hurried to scatter before he ran them down. Nevertheless, he registered a series of soft blows as the small creatures impacted his body only to be thrown forcefully away.

Far in the distance, he saw a flash of lightning.

Slowly, the wind built up around him as a rumble of thunder reached his ears. Another flash lit the sky, and this time the thunder followed both sooner and louder. The wind blew ever more violently against him, and the blackness rippled with the tension of a brewing storm, but there was no scent of rain upon the air. The lightning was now striking with increasing regularity, sometimes within mere feet of him. In spite of the increase, however, the blackness only grew blacker the further on he went, almost becoming its own entity, until it pressed in on him like a smothering blanket. Before long the gale blowing against him was so strong that Gohan had to fight just to stay in place.

It wasn't just the wind.

Relaxing his focus ever so slightly from the strong signatures he had been honing in on, Gohan belatedly realized that he was surrounded by a multitude of smaller _ki_ that were whirling around him in a violent tornado. Anger flared in his chest, and he pushed his power outward until the entire swarm was thrown away from him in a violent flash.

"Is this some kind of a joke to you?" he shouted, briefly flaring his power just to show that he was serious. "Well, I don't think it's funny! I'm through playing your games, and _I demand an audience with the Demon King!_ "

"My, my, such demand." The darkness before Gohan parted like smoke, and there below him stood a handsome man not quite as tall as he was, with pale blue skin, long golden hair, pointed ears, and eyes whose pupils were slitted like a cat's. His clothing, though in the same style as that which the Supreme Kai wore, did not give the impression of one who was kind or pure of heart; rather, the coal-black outfit with trim in shades of red ranging from flame to old blood, gave the impression of both majesty and refined cruelty.

This was one who wished to inspire not love, but fear.

"You do not belong down here," the stranger continued, crossing his arms. "What business does one such as yourself have with the Lord of Hell?"

Gohan continued to hover, using his elevated position to whatever advantage he could in the odd game that this encounter had become. Pulling himself up to his full height, he crossed his arms in turn. "That," he said coldly, "is between him and myself."

"In that case," the stranger continued, "you may certainly tell me. My name is Ahriman. I am the Demon King."

* * *

_"You'll need to be there for the unlocking," his father was telling him as they stood before the massive gates that lead to the realm of Hell. The guards, though they had greeted his father in a friendly enough manner, continued to eye Gohan with looks of suspicion – and, he thought, more than a little fear. "That mark you've got will get you through the gates and back out again, but for as long as you're in Hell, you're on your own."_

_"I understand." With one last nod to his father, he turned back to face the guards._

_"Gohan – wait."_

_Startled, Gohan brought his hand to a stop mere inches from the harshly wrought metal of the door. Turning, he saw to his surprise that the Supreme Kai had followed them down._

_"Yes?" he asked politely, impatient though he was to get going. After all of the effort the Supreme Kai had put into helping him, Gohan felt as though he owed it to the small being to listen to whatever it was he had to say._

_"There's something you should know." He took a moment to take a few deep breaths. "About the new Demon King."_

_"What about him?" Gohan asked, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side._

_Supreme Kai's eyes went first to the guards, who were trying to look as if they weren't straining to hear what was going on, and then to Gohan's father, who wasn't even trying to hide his curiosity. "May we talk in private?"_

_"Of course." Gohan led him away from the gates, walking until he was quite sure they were out of hearing distance. The guards, he knew, were magically bound to their post, and he trusted his father not to eavesdrop. Just to make sure, however, he did a quick sweep of the area around him. He could sense no_ ki _._

_"We ought to be fine here," Gohan said. "Now can you tell me?"_

_"Just a moment." His companion closed his eyes, and Gohan guessed that he was reaching out with his telepathy. After a few minutes of this he seemed to be satisfied, for he turned back to Gohan with a nod._

_"I apologize for the runaround I'm giving you," he began. "But what I'm about to share with you is sensitive information, meant for the Kais' ears only. I am trusting you to keep it a secret – even from your closest friends and family."_

_Gohan nodded. "You have my word."_

_"From you, Son Gohan, that is more than enough." Taking a deep breath, he looked Gohan directly in the eye. "The one who now calls himself Demon King is – was – a Kai."_

_Now that was certainly unexpected. "So what is he doing down there?" Gohan asked, now genuinely curious._

_At that question, the Supreme Kai gave a sigh and turned away from Gohan to sit on a nearby rock. Gohan, taking the cue, sat down as well._

_"We Kais may set out the rules for the universe," he began, "but we do not leave our own realm except in times of great need. For whatever reason, Ahriman was the exception._

_"I – Kibito and the Supreme Kai both – knew him from a boy, and he was always curious as to the unknown. For many ages he tempered his curiosity to merely watching the other realms, but soon after reaching adulthood, millions of years before the birth of Majin Buu, he decided to journey to the mortal realm, and live as one of them._

_"I... begged him not to leave, and I was not the only one. All of the Kais who had heard of his plan doubted the wisdom of the idea. We were not made to live as mortals, and there was no doubt among any of us that it would end badly. But Ahriman was insistent. He had reached his majority and as yet had no duties to fulfill; it was his will, and by our own laws we had no choice but to let him do as he pleased._

_"Time passed, and though Ahriman was not forgotten, little by little his absence was no longer noted. He had always had a gift for hiding himself from both others' telepathy and_ ki _-sense, and so none of us even had knowledge of his whereabouts._

_"And then the abomination, Majin Buu, was born. As you know, my brothers and my sister died in the massacre that followed. In my grief I forgot to wonder about Ahriman; if anything, I was glad that he had not been around to meet the same fate. But it was a cold comfort, and one that I could only take in passing, for my home and family was here. He who had once been my friend was now nothing more than a distant memory."_

_The Supreme Kai paused in his story, his eyes looking somewhere off into the distance, and for a few minutes it seemed as if he would not speak again. "So what happened?" Gohan prompted, gently._

_"He came back." His companion let out a sigh. "Shortly after your father's defeat of Buu, Ahriman returned to our realm of Otherworld._

_"I was... overjoyed to see him again. Shortly after his return, however, it became clear that Ahriman had changed. You must understand, Gohan, a Kai's memory never dies, and though I might have put him from my mind during the time of his absence, I had never forgotten the curious, inquisitive friend who had once left eagerly to seek out new adventures among the mortals. And Ahriman was no longer that person._

_"The bitterness and grief that I saw in him now was truly astounding. Though I asked many times, he would not speak of what he had endured or witnessed during his time away. Instead, he continued to watch the mortal realm, not with his former fascination, but with increasing displays of anger. Every injustice he witnessed, no matter how small or seemingly trivial, was enough to send him into an uncontrolled rage, and we had to forcibly restrain him from journeying to the mortal realm again and acting on his anger._

_"Eventually, Old Kai decided that enough was enough. If Ahriman wanted so badly to punish mortals for their misdeeds, he said, he would have to do so through official channels. We were in the process of separating the realms of Otherworld at the time, and Dabura's defection was still fairly recent. We approached Yemma with our request, and it was readily granted. The separation was completed, and Ahriman was sealed in Hell. Within days, he had established himself as the new Demon King."_

_For a few seconds, both were silent as Gohan digested the information he had just been given. They could not stay silent forever, however, and after a few minutes Gohan asked the question that had been on his mind since the beginning of this strange conversation. "So why are you telling this to me?"_

_"I tell so that you may understand the magnitude of the task you have set out for yourself. If you thought that Yemma was stubborn, you will truly come up against a wall when confronting Ahriman. He is obsessed with punishing wrongdoers. As far as he is concerned, for anyone who did something bad enough to end up in Hell, no amount of suffering will ever be enough."_

_At that, an icy jolt of fear shot through Gohan's heart. "But Piccolo isn't—"_

_"To Ahriman," the Supreme Kai interrupted, "that doesn't matter. "As far as he is concerned, no matter what they may have done since, those who were once evil will never cease to be deserving of torment. He does not believe in redemption."_

_Again, there was a long silence that stretched out between them._

_"You will not be able to deal with Ahriman as you would with Dabura," the Supreme Kai said at last. "You cannot fight him, and he will not be bribed. Even if you are much stronger than he is," he continued as Gohan opened his mouth, "so are many of the mortal souls who now reside in Hell – your friend Piccolo included. In order to establish his position, he has devised methods of control that will subdue even the strongest of fighters. As you are a citizen under Yemma, he will not be able to touch you – unless you break the rules of Hell, in which case we will not be able to stop him from doing whatever he pleases. You will not help Piccolo by joining him."_

_Gohan nodded, though his fists were now clenched in anger. "So what_ can _I do?" he asked, more than a little bitterly._

_"You can negotiate," the Supreme Kai answered. "Under the laws of Otherworld, if a privileged hero requests an appeal on behalf of a prisoner of Hell, he will have to grant you audience – but it must be on his terms."_

* * *

Ahriman did not fly.

Gohan did not doubt that he was capable – levitation seemed to be second nature to all of the Kais he had met thus far. For whatever reason, however, when he agreed to grant Gohan audience he had insisted upon returning to his own domain, and he had chosen to lead the way on foot.

A small portion of Gohan's Saiyan blood had risen within him at that point – he felt as if the Demon King was deliberately demeaning him, and he did not want to grant Ahriman even this small amount of control. In the end, however, pragmatism had won out, and after a few seconds of hovering Gohan had consciously reminded himself of both the Supreme Kai's words to him and the need to conserve energy, and touched down on the ground.

It was an eerie and silent walk through the drab and uninviting landscape of Hell. Ahriman did not speak any more readily than he flew, and somehow Gohan knew that attempting to push the Demon King would get him nowhere. Instead, he looked at the scenery. Though he would have expected the darkness to grow blacker and more oppressive the closer they got to the throne of Hell, it instead seemed to be getting lighter, and Gohan could make out his surroundings clearly.

He had begun to see vegetation – not the green foliage of the living realm or of the heroes' paradise, but colorless, scraggly plants, most of which bore wickedly pointed spikes. In addition, there were many rivers and streams in this area, which ran in every color from crimson to violet to deepest pitch. When he took a deep breath, his keen sense of smell informed him that they ran not with water, but blood.

They reached the palace.

Ahriman stopped walking, and Gohan followed his lead, taking the time to look up and run his eyes over the structure. Though it was built like a fortress and carved from the same black rock that seemed to be abundant in Hell, the Demon King's palace also seemed somehow out of place: the architecture was too sophisticated, the design too careful to have been purely the work of a native. Informed as he was of the situation, only now did Gohan truly began to get an understanding of what the Supreme Kai had told him: he was not dealing with a demon.

Once Gohan had gazed his fill, Ahriman stepped forward once more. Gohan looked sharply at him, suspecting that the former Kai had used telepathy on him against his will – but Ahriman gave no indication that he had seen. Sighing inwardly, Gohan followed him in.

The dark halls of the palace were lit by a multitude of torches. There were no minor demons here, and the solitude was far eerier than the earlier swarming hordes had been. They had just reached a large set of double doors when a woman stepped from the shadows to greet them.

She looked like a mortal.

Looking her over as closely as he could without being invasive, Gohan noted the deadness in her eyes and the multitude of small scars that covered her face and neck, not entirely hidden by her flowing black hair. As they approached she tilted her head slightly upward, raising her hand in greeting.

"This is Jahi," Ahriman supplied. "My Queen."

Gohan dipped his head slightly but did not give further acknowledgement. Ahriman was now leading him forward through the slowly opening doors, and Gohan felt compelled to follow.

They had reached the throne room. The King and Queen strode forward side by side, and when they reached the end simultaneously sat on the carved black thrones that resided there. Gohan stood before them, waiting.

"Now," said Ahriman, "I will hear your plea."

Gohan held up his left arm, exposing the blue marks. "You know what this is."

"I do."

"I take it that you also recognize this." He could not quite keep the anger from his voice as he gestured to his outfit.

Ahriman dipped his head briefly. "I never forget a prisoner, Son Gohan."

Gohan nodded in turn. "Then we can skip the preliminaries. You know why I'm down here and what I want. Are you going to grant it or not?"

"That depends." Ahriman cocked his head to the side, almost curiously. "Just tell me one thing, Son Gohan. Why do you want him free?"

For a moment, Gohan was taken aback by the question. Then, however, he rallied, standing up straight as his anger flared anew.

"You honestly have to ask?" he said coldly.

"This place is the final home of all evildoers," Ahriman returned, equally cold. "I cannot go about releasing anyone on the strength of a request alone. So, I will ask you again: why have you come for Ma Junior? Your answer," he continued, "will determine whether your petition is even allowed to continue."

Gritting his teeth, Gohan stepped back, and took a few minutes to think about what he would say. Knowing what he knew of Ahriman, he tried to come up with an answer that would convince the former Kai.

"He isn't evil," Gohan said at last, looking up once more. "He may have been once, but he's changed since then. You must know of everything he's done for the Earth, for the universe even—"

"No." Gohan was forced to a halt as Ahriman cut him off. "I have the record of everything you said to King Yemma; you need not repeat it here. What I want you to tell me now is why _you_ want his freedom."

He didn't want to have to do this. But Ahriman was leaving him no choice but to bare his soul.

"He's been like a father to me," Gohan said at last. "He trained me and protected me since I was five. He always knew when I needed help, when even my own father did not. I would not be the person I am today if not for him."

"In other words," Ahriman said, sounding as if he were weighing every word, "you are the one who loves him the most."

Again, the question caught him off-guard – but it didn't take long before the truth of it hit him. "Yes." He spoke with conviction.

"And what are you willing to offer?"

Gohan took a deep breath before looking up to meet Ahriman's eyes. "Take me instead."

Another moment of silence stretched out between them. Then:

"I refuse."

"Why?" Gohan demanded. "I am offering to pay his debts."

"Taking his place will pay nothing. Evidently you have no understanding of how my realm works." Closing his eyes, Ahriman shook his head. "If, however, you are willing to do anything – absolutely anything – to get what you want, then I will grant you the right to fight for his freedom." He stood.

"What do you mean, 'to fight for his freedom?'"

"Worth is not a thing to be determined by conviction alone – especially the conviction of one whose perception is clouded." He was making his way slowly down the steps of the dais on which his throne sat, followed in short order by his Queen. "Your conviction must hold – anyone could speak with equal confidence when there is nothing at stake. Will you continue to do so if getting what you want carries a cost to yourself?"

Gohan continued meeting his eyes. "I already told you, didn't I? I'm willing to pay anything."

"I wonder." Before Gohan could protest, Ahriman had turned away, beckoning him to follow. "Come with me. If you truly meant what you have said, you will have no problem with the task that I set forth for you."

He led the way to a small room, adjacent to the throne. The only adornment was a small table, its sole contents a blank piece of paper and a fountain pen. There was no inkwell.

Ahriman stepped up to the table, holding his hand over the paper. "Ma Junior taught you to fight, did he not?"

"His name is Piccolo. And yes, he did."

"Would you be willing to put his teachings to the test in return for his freedom?"

"I would." Gohan cocked his head to the side, curious. "But I'm the strongest one down here. Even if you had all the prisoners and native demons come at me at once, it wouldn't be much of a challenge."

"Ah, but it will." The Demon King waved his hand, and all at once ink began to seep into the paper before him, resolving into words within seconds.

"I would not issue you an unfair challenge," Ahriman continued, lifting the paper and handing it over to Gohan. "The outcome must depend on your will, and that alone. To that end, by signing this contract you agree to allow us to seal a portion of your natural strength such that you will be on the same level as a much weaker opponent. Are these conditions acceptable to you?"

"Just a moment." Pulling the contract closer to his face, Gohan read it through. Its contents were more or less what Ahriman had already told him.

"All right." He let out a sigh. "I agree."

Before he could blink the Demon Queen had appeared suddenly behind him, and there was a sharp pain in his wrist. Looking down, he found to his surprise that she had jammed the tip of the pen fully into his artery, and blood was now flowing freely down its length.

"Then sign." Just as quickly, the pen was yanked out – producing more pain, and another spurt of blood – and placed in his uninjured hand.

Trying to ignore both his growing dizziness and the trickle that was still running in steady spurts down from his wrist, Gohan placed the tip of the pen on the bottom line and signed his name.

Immediately, the pain ceased and the dizziness receded. Looking down, Gohan was surprised to find that not only had the wound healed completely, but that every trace of blood had vanished from his skin. If not for the fact that the signature written in his own blood was still drying on the paper, he would have doubted that it had ever happened at all.

"I will send word to the guards to have Ma Junior brought out of the prison." Ahriman gestured to the outer door, at which a blue-skinned ogre immediately appeared. "You may accompany them if you like." With that, he turned away, leaving Gohan alone with the guard and his new fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I liked the dorky, happy-go-lucky teenage Gohan who first appeared in the Buu Saga, I also thought that Badass Gohan was something we didn't get to see nearly often enough, especially after he reached adulthood. This is my attempt to rectify that.


	3. The Strength of Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Fragments of Fear" by Delerium

Gohan's heart beat a fierce tattoo against his ribcage as the guard led him down the aisle of the cell block.

He was going to see Piccolo again!

But what, he wondered, would happen when he did?

His footsteps were silent as he followed the blue ogre. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught glimpses of the other occupants of Ahriman's prison. Though he didn't recognize any of them in person, he saw that more than a few had tails just like he had once possessed, and several members of Frieza's race were visible to him as well. Some leered, some shouted insults, others begged for help or a second death. Some trembled in corners, or threw themselves repeatedly against the bars. Many more, however, simply sat listlessly, staring out at nothing as the guard led him past.

Gohan, though he felt no small amount of shock and sympathy in spite of knowing what most of them must have done, somehow managed to block out their suffering. From the moment he had entered the cell block, he had sensed a familiar _ki_ , and it took every ounce of his willpower not to run to it, as he had so many times before. Instead, he forced himself to walk behind the guard, taking the air in slow, steady breaths.

It would not do, after all this time, to act like a frightened child when he saw his first teacher again.

As they neared the end of the cell block, the cries from the prisoners slowly lessened, and eventually stopped altogether. Now every one of the cells they passed contained an occupant who simply lay on the floor or sat propped against the wall with limp body and dead eyes. Soon the only sound was that of their feet, the brisk clip-clopping of the guard's boots alongside the soft padding of Gohan's moccasins.

They halted.

Every one of the cells had a barred window high up in the wall, allowing a shaft of Hell's cheerless gray light to fall in, giving a faint illumination. The cell in front of which the guard had halted was no exception, and the light of the tiny window fell over a large figure that sat listlessly hunched in a far corner, his back propped up against the wall.

He was much as Gohan remembered him: tall, strongly built; obviously alien, but at the same time, not so different from himself or any of his human friends. But Gohan had never seen Piccolo fail to notice another person's approach, and had certainly never seen him stare at a blank spot on the wall without appearing to see anything. Like most of the other prisoners in here, he wore no shirt, and Gohan could clearly see that Piccolo's muscular arms and torso now bore a latticework of fine white scars that definitely hadn't been there in life.

Gohan hadn't thought Namekians _could_ scar.

"Piccolo?" he said softly as he leaned in close to the bars, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Piccolo, it's me, Gohan."

At that, Piccolo did move – so quickly that the guard jumped back in alarm, brandishing the stick that Gohan guessed carried some sort of nasty _ki_ -draining device. Gohan held up a hand to stop him, though he had to admit he was a little intimidated himself; Piccolo was right up against the bars, and he was baring his fangs in a way that promised a painful second death to some unlucky soul.

"Gohan, what are you _doing_ here?" he demanded. " _Who sent you?_ " His head whipped to the left, and then to the right, as if hoping to drag the guilty party from the shadows by force of will alone.

"No one sent me." Gohan did not step back, but spread his hands outward in a placating gesture. "I came of my own will." He leaned in close, grasping one of the bars with his right hand, holding his left forearm up for Piccolo's inspection. "Piccolo, I've come to get you out of here."

A brief look of surprise – and, Gohan thought, hope – flashed across his face, but then he turned away, putting his back to the bars. "Don't waste your time," he growled. "No one gets released from Hell. Not on Ahriman's watch."

"Then you'll be the first." He leaned right up against the bars, nearly putting his face through in his efforts to get a better look. Piccolo was standing stiffly, his face turned away, and Gohan could not read his mentor's posture.

"No one is released from Hell," Piccolo repeated, his voice dull and flat. "Do you have any idea what it will cost you to try?"

" _I don't care!_ " Gohan exploded, and at that Piccolo finally turned to look at him, startled. "I'm a Saiyan," Gohan continued earnestly. "I'm the firstborn child of Son Goku. Again and again people told my father 'you can't do this, you can't do that,' but did he ever let that stop him? No!" Gohan was now breathing as hard as he ever had during battle. "He _did_ the impossible, because he never listened to anyone who told him that he couldn't." He came to a halt, glaring.

"Kid—"

"You were always there for me, Piccolo." Gohan softened his voice. "Always. Even when I became stronger than you, stronger than anyone else in the universe, you were always there to help me when I needed it most. So please, let me return that favor. Let me do something for you."

"Gohan, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into! If you sign that contract of Ahriman's—"

"I've already signed it," Gohan interrupted.

For a second, Piccolo only looked at him in horrified disbelief. Then, however, his eyes closed, and Gohan could not shake the feeling that he was fighting not to bury his face in his hands.

"Gohan, you signed—"

"Yes, I did." He lifted his chin. "And I don't regret it, either. I'm going to help you whether you want me to or not." He crossed his arms stubbornly, imitating his mentor's posture. "You can't stop me, Piccolo."

For a few seconds they stared each other down, their wills clashing. Then, Piccolo turned away with a snarl.

"No, I can't. You've already left yourself with no choice." He slammed his fist into the wall behind him, so forcefully that the entire prison should have crumbled from the blow – yet all that happened was the soft sound of flesh impacting damp stone.

For a moment, they only stood as they were – Piccolo with his eyes closed and his back against the wall, Gohan standing before him, waiting. A few minutes passed before Piccolo removed his now-bleeding fist from the side of the wall, and turned to face him through the bars.

"You always were too stubborn for your own good." He let out a breath and looked back at Gohan sharply, that same stern look he'd always given Gohan when he was still strong enough to teach him, and Gohan found himself smiling in relief. "But don't you dare get yourself killed again. Not for me."

Gohan laughed. "Of course not, Piccolo." He turned to the guard. "All right then, I guess that's settled."

The guard did not return his smile, did not show any expression at all, but motioned for Gohan to stand back. For him, this was business as usual. "No funny business, now," he warned as he unlocked the cell.

The moment the key turned in the lock a brilliant light condensed all around Piccolo's body. When Gohan's vision cleared, he saw that Piccolo's wrists were now bound by glowing blue bands – energy bonds, he suspected, and probably with the ability to drain _ki_ as well. As the light finished condensing, Piccolo raised his lip in a slight snarl – humiliation, Gohan thought, and no small amount of anger at being forced into submission within the sight of others. A jolt shot through Gohan's chest at the sight, and there was a sudden heat behind his eyes, but he forced his expression to remain neutral.

Piccolo would not want his pity.

"Come on, then." The guard started to move them out of the cell block, ushering Piccolo slightly in front of him. They had not taken more than three steps, however, when a rough, gravelly voice spoke from behind them.

"So this is it, Namek."

Gohan jumped in surprise. He knew that voice.

Slowly, he turned to look into the cell right across from the one that Piccolo had recently occupied. There he was, also shirtless, even more heavily scarred than he had been in life, one elbow resting casually against his updrawn knee, his hair sticking up from his head like a flame. He was not looking directly at any of them, but Gohan could tell that he was watching from the corner of his eye.

"I suppose it is, Vegeta," Piccolo said from behind him.

"Vegeta," Gohan started, shocked at how far the Prince had fallen. "I—"

"Save it." Vegeta turned to spit on the floor of his jail cell. "I don't want your pity. Yours or Kakarot's." He glared – the first time Vegeta had looked directly at him since the beginning of this surreal conversation.

"Vegeta, I… could try to help you too—"

"What did I just say about pity?" Vegeta was at the bars in an instant; the guard, however, raised his stick in warning, and after another moment of glaring he backed down, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Do what you came here to do," he said. He glared out, and looked Gohan directly in the eye. "See that the Namek gets his warrior's due, boy. Do it, and prove yourself as a Saiyan." Briskly, he made his way back over to the corner that he had previously occupied, and sat back down. When he next spoke, his voice was so quiet that Gohan could barely hear him. "Perhaps one day, my son will come for me."

Gohan opened his mouth, but he could not think of what else to say, and Vegeta would not look at him again. Presently the guard motioned for them to move on. Gohan did not look back as they made their way back down the cell block, but he could feel Vegeta's lowered _ki_ fluctuating wildly before it sank back down to a level that was beyond his perception.

* * *

When the door to the cell block opened once more, Gohan blinked. He hadn't realized, in the short time he had been in there, just how much his eyes had adjusted to the dark, and now even the dull gray light of Hell was enough to nearly dazzle him.

Following the guard, Gohan traced their current path with his eyes and realized the ogre was leading them to an outdoor arena. Ahriman sat on a raised throne on one end of the ring, idly twirling a quill between his long fingers; his Queen occupied a very similar throne on the other end, staring blankly ahead with an air of disinterest. To Gohan's discomfort, he saw that a smattering of demons, imps, and other denizens of Hell that he could not name were beginning to gather at the sides, prodding each other and pointing as the guard cleared a path.

"They always did love a spectacle." Looking up at Ahriman, Gohan saw that even though there was no physical barrier, there seemed to be an invisible line around his throne that no other demon would cross, and as soon as they stepped over it the jeering and whispers faded as well.

The Demon King's eyes flicked toward Piccolo. "You'll no longer need those." He flicked his fingers, and the energy bonds disappeared in a puff of smoke, as if they had never been. The minute his hands were free, Piccolo waved one of his arms and was instantly clothed in his usual outfit. Gohan blinked, and it suddenly occurred to him that his mentor's main purpose had been to cover up the scars.

He also thought that he was the only one who noticed Piccolo rubbing his wrists slightly once the bonds were removed.

It made him wonder just how much prior experience his mentor had had with such treatment. The very thought turned his stomach, and he looked accusingly back at Ahriman.

"You have five minutes to prepare," the Demon King continued, giving no indication that he had even noticed. "I suggest you use them wisely."

"If we talk, is there anything we can do to keep you from listening in?"

"No." With that, he returned to gazing out over the crowd.

Nevertheless, as soon as Ahriman's eyes were no longer on them, Piccolo turned to his student. "Gohan, do you have any idea what you just agreed to?"

"Of course." Gohan crossed his arms. "I did read the contract before signing it, you know. They'll bring down my power level to match my opponents'…"

"That isn't what I meant," Piccolo snarled. He began to pace restlessly, clenching and unclenching his fists; Gohan had never seen him so agitated. "I meant that they did not tell you how they will be choosing the matches."

"What do you mean, they didn't tell me?" Gohan asked. "I just have to prove that I want you out of here badly enough to keep fighting—"

"No." Abruptly Piccolo stopped pacing and turned to face him, laying a hand on each of his shoulders. Gohan was struck dumb by the gesture; his mentor never touched anyone unless he absolutely had to. No exceptions.

Not even for Gohan.

Piccolo looked into his eyes for a moment before he let out a small sigh – another first. "What I mean is that, by the time you are finished, you may very well wish me here yourself."

"I—Piccolo, what—?"

"Your time is up."

He whipped his head around to look at Ahriman, who, Gohan noticed, had risen from his throne. "We were—"

"You must get into the ring now if you wish to go through with our deal," Ahriman interrupted. "Speaking to anyone outside of the ring is strictly forbidden during any of your matches. You agreed to any terms that I saw fit to set," he continued, neither taunting nor sympathetic, but always unmoving, "and these are among them. Or to you wish to break the terms of your contract, and leave here without that for which you came?"

Gohan opened his mouth to protest – but then thought better of it. Nodding dumbly, he mounted the steps into the ring. In his peripheral vision, he saw Piccolo settle into his customary lotus position at the foot of the throne, but his eyes never strayed from his student, and he looked even unhappier about the situation than Gohan was.

His opponent was not yet in the ring. The Demon Queen, however, was standing, and she was holding a short roll of parchment open before her, the text facing outward so Gohan could see it plainly.

"The rules," Ahriman said from behind him, repeating the text word for word in a dry tone that told Gohan he was not reading, but reciting the script entirely from memory. "Each match will continue to a loss or a draw. There is no time limit. The first contestant to forfeit, leave the ring, or fall unconscious loses the match. The plaintiff may only continue if he is the clear winner." As Ahriman finished speaking his Queen rolled up the parchment neatly, placing it to her side. "Do you understand and agree to these conditions?"

Gohan nodded. "I do."

The Demon Queen nodded. Then, she raised a hand.

Gohan gasped. The minute she gestured it was as if an invasive hand had reached inside of him and grabbed hold of something, a part of him that was so sacred and private that not even the closest friend or most intimate lover had the right to be anywhere near it. Instinctively, he clapped his hands over his midsection, his head, his heart – but his efforts were ineffectual, because he was not experiencing an invasion of any physical place. No, the violation was one of his spirit, and there was no action he could take – physical or otherwise – to stop it.

Finally, it stopped. Gohan found himself on his hands and knees, sweat dripping down his face to stain the floor of the ring, the jeers and catcalls of the spectators a distant noise in his ears.

He didn't even remember falling.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up onto one knee. He felt weak and shaky, much as he had recovering from the flu the only time he'd had it; he hadn't even been able to make the walk to the bathroom without leaning on Videl every step of the way, and his superhuman strength had seemed nothing more than a distant wisp of fever dream…

Raising his head, he fixed a glare on the Demon Queen, who he could see had now lowered her hand. Impassively, she unrolled another piece of parchment – much newer and less tattered than the last – and held it out toward him.

There, written in his own blood and in his own hand, was his signature, consenting to sacrifice however much _ki_ was necessary to put him on the same level as his opponent.

Under any other circumstances, Gohan would have laughed, but he was still too sore of spirit, and in far too much shock. His very soul felt raw and tender.

This, then, was what _ki_ drain felt like – and it seemed as if everyone down here was subjected to it all the time. To keep them in control.

Gritting his teeth, Gohan forced himself to focus on getting to his feet, and only on that. Dimly, he registered footsteps approaching from the other side of the ring, and just as he was raising his hands from his knees he heard a harsh laugh.

"What's the matter, boy? Afraid to fight your own uncle?"

It was Radditz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear one day I am going to write a friendship story for Piccolo and Vegeta, because I was absolutely fascinated by their relationship. I know they don't like each other, but there were more than a few times during the series where I got the feeling that they had an understanding of sorts, as the two former villains on the team. I also found their brief conversation prior to Vegeta's sacrifice against Buu to be one of the most compelling moments in the entire series - I think that if anyone else had come down to get the kids, Vegeta would not have asked that question.


	4. Duel of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Remedy" by Seether

Radditz flew forward the second he set foot in the ring, throwing out a barrage of punches. Gohan, unprepared for an assault so sudden, found himself reflexively taking a step backward. Though he blocked and dodged the blows as swiftly as they were thrown, his uncle gave him no time to counter, and in the space of only a few seconds Gohan found himself teetering on the edge of the ring. His foot hit air. He stepped hastily to the side, and Radditz's _ki_ attack flew through the empty air where he had just been, causing the spectators at the ringside to scatter.

"Call yourself a Saiyan?" his uncle bellowed, throwing another punch which Gohan sidestepped, voice harsh with anger. "You're even less of a challenge than your pathetic father and his pet slug!"

Gohan stopped stepping back.

"Keep talking," he shouted, "and I'll show you just how Saiyan I am!" As he spoke, he hooked his fingers under his clothing, and threw off the weighted gear in a single smooth motion.

This declaration was greeted with a roar of approval from the spectators at the side of the ring. It also drew a smirk from Radditz.

"Now that's more like it, boy!" he yelled, leaping forward with his fist cocked back.

The two of them began a punch-and-block routine at an even higher intensity than before, this time with Gohan on the offensive. Now that he was more focused, however, he was thrown off by Radditz's strength in proportion to his own. Within seconds his forearms were peppered with bruises from blows that his instincts told him he should not even have been able to feel. Even as this thought crossed his mind Radditz threw a _ki_ blast that he didn't have time to dodge. Acting on reflex, Gohan swatted it away instead, and was surprised at the sudden pain in his hand. Chancing a glance away from his opponent, he noticed to his shock that blisters had already formed on his palm.

Even Yamcha would have been able to laugh that off…

_I'm not any stronger than he is now_ , Gohan reminded himself, gritting his teeth as he blocked a barrage of punches with crossed forearms, throwing in a roundhouse kick of his own when Radditz let down his guard. _The only thing that matters is my will._

The kick was blocked, but Gohan wasn't done yet; he wouldn't allow himself to fail, not when everything was on the line for his mentor. Letting his momentum continue to carry him, he spun backwards and brought his other leg high, sweeping his foot in a long arc with his heel aimed for Radditz's head.

Radditz, unfortunately, was anticipating such a move, and brought an arm up to block it. Gohan staggered as his momentum was suddenly jerked to a halt, nearly losing his balance in the process.

Also unfortunately for him, Radditz was experienced enough not to stop at blocking. Turning his wrist, he closed his fingers around Gohan's ankle and yanked backwards. Thrown off-balance, he fell toward the ground, but managed to tuck his head and roll just in time to avoid the heavy boot that came down right where he would have landed. Without missing a beat, he leaped smoothly to his feet, landing in a crouch with his guard up. No sooner had he landed than he pushed off from the floor, flying at Radditz with a _ki_ -charged punch.

Radditz swatted Gohan's fist aside with a smirk, and they began their furious exchange anew.

"It seems I was mistaken," he said, grinning as their fists clashed against each other. "Maybe there's some Saiyan in you yet."

"Had I been more Saiyan," Gohan responded, bringing his knee up to block a kick, "I would have ended up down here with you. So I'm really glad that I'm not, thanks all the same."

Radditz's smirk promptly turned into a frown. "Glad not to be Saiyan, are you? Do you have no pride?"

"Maybe not," Gohan replied with a smirk of his own, "but I've heard that one before too!" His leg shot out, hitting his uncle right in the stomach.

Radditz flew backwards, but quickly regained his composure and went on the offensive once more, leaping at him with a kick so high that Gohan was forced to lean back to avoid getting hit in the face. He stepped to the side, throwing an elbow strike that was promptly blocked, before coming at Radditz again with an open-handed palm strike. Radditz's hand met his halfway; Gohan threw a punch with his other hand, only to have it caught in the same manner. For a few minutes they struggled, pushing against each other in the middle of the ring.

"Why are you doing this?" Gohan asked. "You didn't even have to end up down here! I bet my father forgave you for everything you did, and offered you a second chance! So why didn't you take it?"

"I wouldn't expect a pampered half-breed like you to understand!" Radditz pushed harder, and Gohan found himself sliding backwards a step.

"No!" Gohan barked, pushing back, his arms trembling with the effort. "I _don't_ understand!" He bore down on his front foot, bending his knee just a little more, and managed to halt his backsliding. "I don't understand why you threw your life away when my father offered you mercy, and I don't see why you're throwing your afterlife away by fighting me now!" Twisting his arm to the side, he managed to break the stalemate; Radditz was caught off-guard and overbalanced, pitching forward when the resistance suddenly disappeared. Gohan, using this to his advantage, caught his arm and threw his uncle over his shoulder. Radditz landed hard on his back in the middle of the ring, and Gohan stepped forward, staring down at him, not yet making a move. "What's in it for you?"

At his feet, there was a hoarse laugh. "'Throwing away my afterlife,' you say? It's at times like this that I feel almost alive again!" Bringing his legs up first, he leaped to his feet in one fluid motion, before turning to face Gohan with a feral grin. "What's in it for me?" he asked. "The pleasure of the fight, of course!" Once again, he lunged.

Gohan turned to the side, letting the incoming fist fly harmlessly past his face. Swatting the arm to the side, he quickly retaliated with a backwards elbow strike aimed for his uncle's side. Radditz let out a slight grunt, staggering back a few steps as the blow impacted his armor.

"That's the only thing you want?" Gohan demanded. "To fight?" Pressing his advantage, he ran towards his opponent, leaping into a roundhouse kick that the other only just managed to duck in time to avoid. "Don't make me laugh, _uncle_." Gohan threw an arm down to block the return kick as he turned backwards, pivoting on one foot and burying the other in his uncle's stomach. The kick landed true, and Radditz was sent tumbling across the ring, only barely managing to catch himself in time to avoid being thrown out entirely.

"You could have fought as one of Earth's protectors!" he continued, panting slightly from more than the exertion, as his uncle slowly rose to his hands and knees. "And after that, if you'd made it to the warriors' heaven you could have tested your strength whenever you pleased, rather than having to wait for Ahriman's whim. I bet that my father offered you that chance. So why didn't you take it?"

Radditz had finished pushing himself to his feet, and he turned towards Gohan with narrowed eyes, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.

"Why didn't I take a fool's hope, boy? Why didn't I entrust my life to the strength of a weakling who couldn't even overcome me without help?" With a yell, he rushed forward again, throwing a punch which Gohan only just barely managed to block. For a second they stood there, Gohan's crossed forearms trembling against the strength of Radditz's blow. "Why didn't I risk Frieza's wrath, or Vegeta's, by throwing in my lot with the brother even _I_ managed to fell with one blow? _Is that what you're asking?_ "

"I'm asking why you didn't do the _right thing!_ " Gohan pushed back, shoving Radditz away from him; for a second, they both staggered, having been thrown off-balance. "My father always did the right thing, no matter how hard it was or how much he suffered because of it." This time, Gohan went on the offensive, leaping forward with a kick that caught his uncle under the chin; Radditz staggered backwards, and when Gohan's follow-up roundhouse caught him, he was thrown to the ground. "You might not have wanted to stand with us, but you could have walked away. He was your _brother_ , he offered you a second chance, and you repaid his kindness by murdering him!"

Radditz, who was getting to his feet once again, froze midway through wiping the blood from his mouth. For a brief moment, he actually looked confused.

Then, however, he bared his teeth in a feral expression that was half grin, half snarl. " _I_ killed my brother?" He turned back to Gohan, now grinning in full. "Are you honestly saying that nobody ever told you?" The fighting had come to a dead stop, and though Gohan kept his guard up, neither one of them even thought about making a move. "Don't get me wrong, boy. My worthless excuse for a brother did perish in that battle. But he did not die by my hand."

"If you're not responsible," Gohan asked coldly, "then who was?"

Somehow, however, he already knew the answer. Radditz was telling him, in his own way; his eyes had left Gohan's face, and Gohan, following his uncle's gaze, found the answer to his question.

As his eyes came to rest on Piccolo, his memory of that day somehow began to return in full. Granted, he had been very young at the time, and he hadn't been able to see much through the hatch of the spaceship—the window was not large, and the battle had moved so quickly that to his untrained eyes the combatants had appeared as nothing more than rose-tinted blurs.

Then, however, came the time when he had forgotten his fear, becoming angry enough to break out of his prison. He hadn't been paying much attention to his surroundings—Gohan's eyes had been only for his father, and the bully who was hitting him while he was down. And, of course, he had been knocked into unconsciousness immediately after. But, just before his uncle's heavy hand had come down on the side of his head, he had seen someone else out of the corner of his eye, another person who in his fuzzy four-year-old memory had been nothing but a blur.

A blur of green and purple.

As quickly as it had come, the memory faded. Now, looking to the side of the ring, Gohan locked eyes with his mentor once again. Piccolo's gaze was more intense than it had ever been before, and Gohan didn't need telepathy to tell that he wanted to speak—but could not. Something in the magic that bound him to the ringside also prevented him from speaking, from sending telepathically, from explaining himself. He could not tell Gohan the truth of what had happened that day.

Gohan, however, knew his own truth. He had been a child that day, but he was a child no longer. He had lived a human lifetime and more, worked, fought, loved, and seen the birth of his grandchildren. His vision had been blurry then, but now, he could see quite clearly.

He turned back to Radditz with a smirk.

"Just because you didn't strike the finishing blow, that doesn't mean you're not responsible!" He rushed forward again, ready to resume the battle, and Radditz, taken off-guard by his reaction, stepped back a pace.

"You were the one who wouldn't leave," Gohan continued, pressing his advantage, coming at Radditz with a series of punches and kicks. "You murdered innocents for a living, you threatened the lives of billions of people, you held me hostage, you valued your own cowardly hide over the life of your brother, and look where it got you! Here!" He managed to land a punch on Radditz's jaw, and his uncle staggered backward. He was now teetering on the very edge of the ring. "I bet my father told Piccolo to shoot through him, because it was the only way to defeat you! Piccolo may have killed my father, but he eventually changed, and became one of Earth's heroes. You, though—you haven't changed at all! And I think you've used up your quota of second chances!"

To punctuate his last statement, Gohan pivoted on one foot and lashed out with a sidekick. His foot pounded into his uncle's stomach with such force that it produced a loud _thwap!_ against his armor, and Radditz was sent flying end-over-end out of the ring. He tumbled over the edge, and hit the dirt before he even remembered he could fly.

A deafening roar went up from the crowd of spectators. Stepping to the edge of the ring, Gohan looked over at where Radditz had fallen. Two ogres were hastily approaching him from each side; as Gohan watched, he got up and lunged as if to leap back into the ring, but before he could move each of them got hold of one of his arms. They were nevertheless jerked forward as Radditz continued to struggle, snarling, his eyes never leaving Gohan's face.

Ahriman flicked his wrist.

Immediately Radditz screamed as a cage of lightning sparked all around his body. The sound was blood-curdling, and Gohan, as much as he disliked his uncle, couldn't help but cringe in sympathy at the sheer agony that was conveyed by the sound.

"Stop it!"

For a second, the Demon King ignored him, his eyes still fixed on Radditz with an expression of cold contempt. Then, however, he lowered his hand.

Immediately, the screaming stopped, and the silence that followed was like music by comparison. Radditz immediately fell to his knees, his eyes rolling back into his head as he hit the ground face-first. His hands, Gohan noted, were now bound.

"Take him away."

The ogres stepped back up to him, each taking one of his arms once again. Hoisting him up under the armpits, they carried him away from the ring. Gohan watched them for only a few minutes before turning back to Ahriman.

"This is my realm, Son Gohan, not yours." Though the only change in the Demon King's expression was a slight drawing-together of his eyebrows, his voice had gone from cold to downright frigid. "It is my prerogative to subdue prisoners as I see fit. You would do well to remember that."

For a minute, they continued to glare at each other. Then, however, Ahriman gestured for him to step out.

"You may rest until we have repaired the ring." He was not giving in, Gohan knew. He just did not consider this confrontation to be worth his time.

Slowly, Gohan made his way back to the waiting area. The second he set foot outside of the ring a small part on the binding spell on Piccolo relaxed, and Gohan saw it break as his mentor opened his mouth.

"Gohan," he started, "I—"

"Don't." Gohan held up a hand. "It's… in the past. And I meant what I said." Suddenly exhausted, he let himself sink to the ground, crossing his legs in imitation of his mentor.

Gohan knew, of course, he had known all along, that Piccolo had once been evil. His father had said as much himself—Piccolo had once been among his many mortal enemies, right along with Vegeta and Android 18. That he had managed to deliver the blow that none of the others could was, by comparison, an insignificant concern.

Of course, that was only how he saw it now.

Had he learned, upon his rude awakening to cold water in the middle of a barren wasteland, that his new teacher had been responsible for his father's death, how would he have reacted?

Gohan did not know, or like to think, whether he was capable of hate. He certainly hadn't _liked_ Piccolo when first they met—his teacher had been too distant and harsh, then, to inspire feelings of affection, especially in a four-year-old child who had lived a life as easy and sheltered as Gohan had up to that point. And even though his father had died too many times since for Gohan to be bothered by the thought at present, at the time, his life had been ripped to shreds. Had he learned then that the same teacher who had taught him the meaning of pain had also been responsible for the death of his greatest hero, he doubted he would have warmed up to Piccolo nearly as much as he had.

But hate?

There were very few things others could do to make him angry. Harming his loved ones, however, was among them. Even so, there were even fewer things that Gohan could not forgive—no matter what had gone before, repentance was usually sufficient for him, just as it was for his father.

He shook his head. What might have happened was no longer relevant. The only thing that mattered was the here and now.

"Even if I would have held that against you," Gohan said out loud, choosing his words carefully, "I forgave you for it a long time ago."

A few more minutes passed by in silence. This time, it was Piccolo who spoke.

"You do know that that was the easiest trial that Ahriman has in store for you."

Gohan sighed as he looked back at the ring, where a cluster of imps was busy laying down new flooring and scrubbing away the bloodstains. "Yeah," he said, "I figured as much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm naturally inclined to write Gohan as a teenager, but he isn't a teenager anymore. He's lived a full lifetime, grown old, and had as much life experience as anyone could hope for. At this point in his (after)life, he's not going to be upset nearly as easily as when he was younger.
> 
> On fighting: The fight in this chapter was deliberately understated. I decided, for stylistic reasons, to make it a fairly low-key fight with mostly true-to-life martial arts, no flying, no serious injury, and minimal fireworks. I think that works as a warm-up, both for Gohan and for me as the author.


	5. Duel of Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Pain Redefined" by Disturbed

"Your time is up."

Taking a deep breath, Gohan stood from his lotus position and walked back to the ring. He and Piccolo had not talked further; Gohan had spent what time he had meditating in an effort to regain some of his energy. Even so, he still felt unusually weak.

Then again, that was probably just because Jahi was still holding back most of his _ki_.

As soon as Gohan stepped into the ring the aforementioned Demon Queen raised her hand again, and this time, he felt his own _ki_ flowing back into his body. The return of his energy refreshed him, and he felt a little bit better.

That didn't change the fact that he still felt horribly, awfully weak.

He looked up at Ahriman. The Demon King was impassively twirling his quill between his fingers, looking down at Gohan in turn.

Gohan was the first to break the silence. "So," he said. "Who's my opponent this time?"

Ahriman did not answer verbally. Instead, he looked over Gohan's head, turning his attention to the other side of the ring.

Even before his gaze had reached the spot where Ahriman was looking, Gohan heard the sound of a scuffle. He craned his head, trying to see through the crowd; he had a vague idea, now, of what Ahriman was doing, and wanted a little more time to prepare himself. There was a fair amount of movement among the crowd of spectators as groups of demons grudgingly shuffled to the side in order to allow the next contestant to approach the ring, but Gohan couldn't quite see who it was…

"What is the meaning of this? You'd better not be bringing me to another—"

It was at that moment that his opponent's head finally came into view, and his eyes met Gohan's. Suddenly, Nappa's face broke into an evil grin.

"Let me at 'im! I wanna fight that brat again, and kill him properly this time!"

Nappa's wrists were bound, just as Piccolo's and Radditz's had been. Unlike either of them, however, he was struggling against them in his eagerness to enter the ring, so hard that a steady trickle of blood was beginning to drip from his hands.

Finally, he made it into the ring, dragging along the two ogres who were trying to restrain him. The split second they released him—looking extremely relieved to so do—he charged into the ring, rushing at Gohan with a feral grin.

Gohan, for his part, found himself stepping back involuntarily. He threw his arms up hastily to block blows, his form sloppy. His mind was not on this fight, but on memories he had thought long since buried, which now came rushing back all at once…

He had seen his first death, when the Saibaman that Nappa had planted had blown up, taking Yamcha with it…

…he had watched Chiaotzu explode in a courageous act of self-sacrifice that had turned out to be completely ineffective…

_"Honor his bravery!"_

…Tien had died of exhaustion after receiving the most brutal beating that Gohan had ever witnessed in his young life…

_"It hurts, doesn't it?"_

That was the time at which Gohan had learned he was completely useless in a fight. He was just too scared.

Now, Nappa turned toward him, teeth bared in a feral grin. His hand began to glow…

_Gohan knew exactly what he was doing; after all, how many times had Mr. Piccolo thrown similar blasts his way? How many times had he made Gohan practice throwing them? But this was not practice. Gohan could feel the power in that ball of_ ki _, and he knew that it would not merely sting or burn. No, it would vaporize him, ripping him into his constituent atoms the moment it hit._

_He had to dodge._

_But he was frozen._

_Nappa threw the blast._

_A wave of heat and light overwhelmed him. He could not see, and he knew in that instant that he was going to die._

_Then, a shadow…_

_That was the only time he had ever heard Piccolo scream._

_Gohan never wanted to hear that sound again._

Snapping back to the present, Gohan swatted away the attack that had been thrown at him, only to be caught in the stomach by Nappa's knee.

He gagged, doubled over as a wave of bile and nausea rose to his throat. Before he could even begin to recover, Nappa's clasped hands came down on his upper back, sending him crashing to the floor of the arena.

Dimly, Gohan registered the raucous jeers from the crowd of spectators. A shadow fell over him, and he barely managed to roll to the side when Nappa's foot came down right where his head had been only a second before.

Nappa wasn't letting up on the assault, and winded though he was, Gohan jumped to his feet, and was immediately forced to leap into the air to avoid a blow. Nappa's fist hit the floor of the ring instead, producing a shrapnel of shattered tile that forced the audience to shield their faces.

"So, whelp," he sneered, looking up. "It's been awhile!" Pushing off against the floor of the ring, he leapt up at Gohan, who only just managed to avoid his fist, which nevertheless came so close that Gohan heard a whistling sound, and felt the displaced air against his face.

Desperately, Gohan shook himself. _It's just a sparring match_ , he told himself, trying to force the thought to take root in his brain in spite of the panic that was still pounding through his heart hard enough to make his limbs shake. _It's just a sparring match and we're at the same power level now. I just have to keep calm and—_ His thoughts were cut short when he was forced to raise an arm to block Nappa's next blow.

_I have to remember what I'm fighting for…_

_Piccolo was on the ground in front of him, burned, bleeding, his clothing in tatters. And as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, Gohan knew right then that he wasn't going to make it._

_Piccolo smiled at him then. He said out loud that he cared._

_He even shed tears._

Nappa looked at him, startled. Had Gohan been a bit more clear-headed, he would have realized that it was due to the feral snarl that had appeared on his face.

There were very few things others could do to make him angry—but harming his loved ones was among them.

Screaming, Gohan pushed all of his _ki_ into the arm that was still in a deadlock with Nappa's. He saw the larger Saiyan's eyes widen briefly before he was thrown forcibly back down to the floor of the ring.

Flipping himself midair, Nappa barely managed to land upright, his feet leaving twin furrows in the floor of the ring, but Gohan wasn't granting him any respite. Bringing his hands up in front of his face, he gathered his _ki_ into one of his palms.

"Masenko—HA!"

Gohan's attack rushed downward, just as Nappa brought his own hand up. An answering wave of light burst forth from Nappa's palm just as Gohan's Masenko reached him.

The entirety of the ring was engulfed in the resulting explosion.

Gohan, who had thrown his arms up to shield his face from the blastwave, slowly lowered his hands to his sides. When the blasts had collided, Nappa's energy level had dropped slightly—but only slightly. Gohan knew better than to charge in recklessly, so he continued to hover above the ring as he waited for the debris to clear.

Slowly, the center of the ring became visible once again. When the last wisps of smoke drifted away they revealed Nappa, standing in the center with his hand still outstretched. He was breathing heavily, a spiderweb of cracks had appeared in his armor, and his arm was burnt and blackened from the heat of the explosion, but he was still standing. Slowly, he raised his head to look up at Gohan. He grinned.

"My turn."

Before Gohan could so much as blink, Nappa was flying up at him once more. Trying to take advantage of his height while he still had it, Gohan flew down to meet him, fist pulled back and ready to punch.

Right as his fist shot forward, however, Gohan found his forearm knocked roughly away from his body, leaving his vital areas wide open. He managed to get a knee up just in time to block Nappa's kick, and their shins collided with such force that they flew away from each other, each barely managing to catch himself in time to keep from flying out-of-bounds. Nappa impacted the ring mere inches from the corner nearest Jahi; Gohan, who was slightly luckier, landed a few feet away from the opposite edge.

For a moment, they only stared at each other. Then, Nappa bared his teeth once more.

"Is that the best you can do, brat?"

Gohan didn't answer. He gritted his teeth, and lowered himself into a fighting stance.

"Well then, I guess that I'll just end this here and now!" The palm of his hand began to glow.

It was just like…

No. Gohan was not going to let Nappa bait him like this. He wasn't five years old anymore, and this time, nobody had to die for him. This time, he would be able to… dodge…

Nappa's eyes shifted to the side. His sadistic grin widened.

Gohan let out a gasp. Nappa wasn't aiming for him at all.

During his battle with Radditz, a stray blast of _ki_ had flown outside of the ring, and some of the demons watching had been forced to dodge. There were no safeguards at all to protect the spectators.

And Piccolo… he couldn't dodge. He couldn't move at all. His _ki_ level was far too low for him to take a blast from Nappa and survive. Currently he was glaring defiantly back at Nappa with his fangs bared, but Gohan knew that if that blast was allowed to hit its target, there was only one possible outcome.

In that moment, he quite forgot that Ahriman's throne was also within Nappa's line of sight, and he also failed to realize that the Demon King would surely afford himself some protection from any stray blasts that might head his way. He was too caught up in his memories, and at this point all Gohan could think of was a memory of Piccolo bleeding on the ground. Even if not for the associated trauma, as intelligent as he was Gohan had never grown accustomed to using his head in battle, acting instead on reflex and instinct and emotion, and he did not think at all about what he did next. He simply acted.

Before he even knew what he was doing Gohan had moved, not to dodge the blast, but to intercept it. There was a collective gasp from around the ring as he braced himself, lowering his stance as he crossed his forearms in an X shape in front of his chest.

The _ki_ wave hit.

Immediately it felt as if he had been simultaneously enveloped in fire and pummeled by a freight train. He couldn't help but scream as some of the stray energy tore through his skin, and he felt an arm and several of his ribs crack under the sheer pressure of the power he was fighting to hold off.

Was this what _he_ had felt?

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. Gohan swayed without the pressure of the blast holding him up; he was gasping for breath. Every part of his body hurt. Looking down, he saw twin ruts in the tile; the force of the blast had pushed him back several feet, nearly to the edge of the ring. Only a little further, and he would have been forced out.

"You fool!" Nappa rushed forward, and Gohan, knowing that he was mere inches from a ring-out, attempted to dive to the side—only to collapse to the floor when his muscles gave way.

Nappa was now laughing. "Pathetic. I can't believe you actually fell for that!" He wedged his foot under Gohan's body. Nappa was going to roll him right out of the ring, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it…

Pain exploded in his side, and there was an audible snap as several more of his ribs broke. There was a brief moment of weightlessness before he fell hard against the ground, unable to catch or brace himself, struggling just to breathe through the sparks flying in front of his eyes.

It was over. He had failed.

Somewhere through the pain and the ringing in his ears, Gohan heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He squeezed his eyes closed, not yet ready to look his mentor in the face. "Piccolo," he muttered, his eyelids beginning to sting with unshed tears. "I'm—"

Above him, there was harsh laughter. Gohan forced his eyes open—

—and saw a pair of Saiyan-made boots. What's more, those boots were resting not on dirt, but on white tile.

Gohan was still in the ring.

But why…?

Nappa laughed again, and the way that the larger Saiyan was leering down at him did not bode well.

_"I wanted to take my time with the Namek…"_

Oh, hell.

Gohan had just enough time to come to a horrified realization before Nappa raised his foot and brought it down hard onto his already-injured arm.

Gohan was unable to hold back a scream at the new explosion of white-hot pain in his arm as several more snapping sounds reached his ears. His distress only seemed to goad Nappa further; his grin, if anything, widened, and he ground his foot mercilessly down onto Gohan's arm.

His vision began to swim, and he fought to retain consciousness. _I mustn't lose consciousness_ , he thought. _I lose the match if I black out._

At the moment, however, it looked like Gohan was going to lose no matter what he did. He was too badly hurt to fight, and completely at the mercy of his opponent. As a matter of fact, with the way things were going it would be a miracle if he didn't die again.

Turning his head to the side, he managed to lock eyes with Piccolo. Blurry though his vision was, Gohan could see that his mentor was watching with his mouth open in horror, and that, in spite of the magic that bound him, he was desperately fighting to speak, to move, to come to Gohan's aid.

He had always been the one to come to Gohan's aid, always, no matter the circumstances or the obstacles that stood in the way.

Always.

Gohan would not fail to repay him that kindness.

Gritting his teeth, he managed to bring himself back from the brink of unconsciousness and rally his thoughts in between the bursts of pain, just enough to come up with a plan. Gohan was much smaller than his opponent, and after the hit he had taken he was no match for Nappa in terms of physical strength. But throwing that blast had drained a fair amount of Nappa's strength as well, he could sense it. They were not as uneven as one might have thought, and Gohan could use that to his advantage.

If, that is, he could manage to get out from under Nappa's foot.

He concentrated. Mentally, he distanced himself from what was happening to him physically, holding onto consciousness but at the same time letting his mind drift toward the same place he sought when he entered deep meditation. Though he was still far from oblivious to the pain, he managed to isolate it enough that he could manage to concentrate, though he had to bite his lip before he could stop screaming. Slowly, he began to gather his energy to his core, at the same time pushing as much _ki_ as he could spare into his less-grievously injured hand.

This had to work.

If it didn't…

No. He wasn't even going to consider the possibility.

Nappa did not halt his stamping right away but, just as Gohan had suspected, it didn't seem to be as fun for the other Saiyan when he wasn't giving voice to his suffering. A few more stomps—a few more jolts of red-hot agony that seemed to shoot through his entire body—and then Nappa stopped, spitting to the side.

"What, is that it?" Gohan did not answer him, concentrating instead only on breathing, and on the _ki_ that was slowly gathering in his hand. "Do you think that if you're not screaming it'll make me _stop?_ " Nappa was now pacing around him in a slow circle, and Gohan, though he was tracking the other's movement, didn't react beyond continuing to force himself to take the air in painful, shuddering breaths that sent stabbing pains all throughout his torso with every inhale. "Well, I've got news for you!" Nappa stopped his pacing, looking down at Gohan with a feral grin. "I'm just getting started, and I know _so_ many other ways of making you scream!"

He leaned down, cracking his knuckles…

There. Gohan had finally gathered enough _ki_.

This was a last-ditch effort, and he knew that he only had one shot at it, and therefore put all of his concentration into what he was about to do. Swifter than the eye could follow, Gohan brought up his good arm and shot a _ki_ beam straight into Nappa's eye.

The other Saiyan let out a blood-curdling scream, reeling back as he clutched his face with both hands.

Now was his chance.

As Nappa continued to hold his face, cursing fluently in Saiyan and promising to teach him the meaning of pain, Gohan moved. His body was sluggish and did not want to cooperate, and pain shot through his muscles at every movement, but he somehow managed to force himself to his feet, and then to run around behind Nappa. He was still spitting curses when Gohan jumped onto his back, wrapping both legs around his body and his good arm around the brutish Saiyan's throat.

"Why you little—!" Nappa roared. Gohan's only response was to draw his arm back as hard as he could, cutting him off from speaking further.

Now it just came down to a contest of endurance.

Immediately stabbing pains shot through Gohan's torso, and his breath came in wheezing gasps due to the pressure he was putting on his broken ribs, but he could also see that veins were beginning to stand out in Nappa's neck, and his ears were rapidly turning red. He must have realized in that moment what Gohan was trying to do, for with a strangled roar he began to swing his body violently from side to side. Gohan was tossed around like a rag doll, and several times his legs were nearly dislodged from around Nappa's waist, but by some miracle he managed to keep his arm firmly locked around the larger Saiyan's throat.

Realizing that his current tactic wasn't working, Nappa left the floor of the ring. He floated upwards for only a short distance before slamming his body violently back downwards so that his back—and, by extension, Gohan's—slammed into the floor of the ring. All of the air was immediately forced from Gohan's body; his legs slipped from around Nappa's waist, but he forced his arm to continue to hold, praying all the while that the jarring he was receiving would not result in his shattered ribs being driven inward to puncture his lungs.

As Nappa got up again, Gohan could feel pieces of shattered tile sliding from his back and shoulders, clinking as they hit the floor. He couldn't help but remember what Nappa had done to Chiaotzu in their first battle, how he had slammed his back into the rocks again and again in his efforts to dislodge the tiny telepath…

Gohan scrambled frantically to renew his grip, trying to brace himself for the next impact…

It came.

Again, agony shot through his body as his broken ribs scraped against each other and the air was once again forced from his lungs. His vision was beginning to blur at the edges, but still he held on, ready for the next impact…

…and the next…

…again…

…and again…

…and again.

Soon Gohan lost count of how many times he had been slammed into the floor, losing his grip on who and where he was soon after. Time and place no longer had a meaning. Now, his world had narrowed down to a single thing, but somehow he knew it was the most important thing.

_Hold on._

Again, pain shot through his entire body as his already ill-used ribs received another jarring, and fragments of shattered tile embedded themselves into his back. Still he kept to that most important thing… _hold on…_ but Gohan didn't know how much more of this he could take. The considerable weight on top of him was crushing the breath from his lungs, and pressing painfully against his injuries…

Wait.

The weight was still on top of him.

For a few more minutes Gohan did not move, just to make sure, but then he slowly eased his arm from around Nappa's neck.

He had done it. He had managed to cut off Nappa's air supply long enough for the other Saiyan to lose consciousness. Nappa was out cold.

Suddenly a face appeared right above his, a small blue face with pointed ears, double rows of sharp little teeth, a hooked nose, and yellow slit-pupiled eyes. Gohan stared back, blinking a few times to make sure of what he was seeing.

"He's awake!" the imp shouted, turning away to look at something that was outside of Gohan's line of sight.

"The winner of the second match is Son Gohan." Ahriman's voice was coming from somewhere behind him.

A few seconds later, Nappa's unconscious body was rolled off of him. Gohan, relieved, took a deep breath—only to let out a strangled cry as a stabbing pain shot through his chest.

"Can I… get a healer?" he groaned.

Nobody answered. The Demon Queen, however, raised a hand again, and Gohan felt a bit more of his energy flow back into his body.

Feeling revived by the extra energy even though he was still hurt, Gohan sat up. He looked a question at Ahriman.

"You are dead," the Demon King said simply. "There are no healers in Hell, but given enough energy you should be able to recover on your own."

Gohan nodded, and dragged himself to his feet. He managed to stagger to the edge of the ring under his own power, but no sooner had he reached the ground than his legs gave out on him and he pitched forward, unable to stop his fall.

The painful collision, however, never came. Instead, his body collided with something soft, and he found himself supported by a pair of callused hands.

"Easy, kid." Slowly, he was lowered to the ground.

"S-sorry." He found that his back was resting against another warm body; Piccolo had situated him so that Gohan was leaning against his side, so that he did not have to expend the energy to sit up on his own.

A few more minutes passed. Gohan took the air in deep breaths; it was slowly getting easier to breathe. Then:

"Gohan, what were you thinking back there? You almost got yourself killed!"

"I couldn't let you get hit," he whispered. "You would've died."

A deep rumbling reverberated through his back, a sound that he recognized as a growl of frustration. "And you nearly did. Gohan, I'm not—"

"Don't say you're not worth it!" Gohan snapped. He gasped in a breath, an action which still produced a physical pain. "You would've done the same for me. _Have_ done the same for me." He fell silent, still struggling to control his breathing.

Piccolo did not respond immediately, even though Gohan knew he wasn't giving in. Just as he was beginning to drift into unconsciousness, however, one final response drifted into his ears.

"You promised not to get yourself killed again for my sake. I'm holding you to that."


	6. Duel of Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Blow Me Away" by Breaking Benjamin

Gohan was just coming to when he felt Piccolo shift against him. Groaning, he opened his eyes, to find that his mentor was staring intently at the newly-repaired ring.

"It's almost time."

Gohan let out a groan. "Already?"

"Yes. Now hold still." Once again, his body was enveloped in that familiar tingling sensation, and Gohan found himself clothed in a new gi.

"Thanks." He stood up and stretched, attempting to loosen his muscles before the next fight. "But you do know it's just going to get ruined again, right?"

Piccolo grunted. "True, but if things keep going the way they have you're going to be fighting naked before long."

"Ah ha ha." Gohan turned his attention to the ring; it was now gleaming like new, and as pristine as if it had never been used at all. Somehow, he doubted that would last very long.

"Son Gohan." Ahriman chose that moment to speak. "Have you healed in full?"

Gohan stretched his arms, touched his toes, and twisted his torso experimentally from side to side. Even though he found that he was still unusually stiff, none of these actions produced any pain. He turned back to Ahriman with a nod. "I have."

"Then it is time for you to return to the ring."

Without further conversation or argument, he stepped into his corner, letting out a sigh of relief as another portion of his energy was restored. As Gohan was swiftly learning seemed to be the norm here, there was still no sign of his opponent. This time he made sure to listen as he waited; both Radditz and Nappa had made a lot of noise as they were escorted in, and he was hoping to be able to get at least a little advance warning through identifying his opponent's voice.

This time, however, there was no sign of any such scuffle. Gohan turned to look up at Ahriman, who was examining his nails. "Is he—"

"Your opponent is on the way," Ahriman answered before he could even finish. He sighed. "An eternity before you and still you cannot learn the meaning of _patience_."

Feeling his face grow hot, Gohan turned once again to the other side of the ring. And now he could see that the crowd was indeed parting, and that the heads of two ogres had become visible over the sea of faces, but whoever it was they were escorting remained hidden behind the crowd of demons.

The ogres continued to come closer and closer, but it wasn't until the very front row parted that Gohan saw just who it was he would be fighting. When the ogres were not quick enough in releasing him, the Prince of all Saiyans impatiently shrugged off their hands before he stepped into the ring.

For an instant, time seemed to stop. Vegeta was now wearing his signature Saiyan armor, polished boots, and white gloves, all of them looking as fresh and spotless as if newly made. He made no move, only stood there looking at Gohan impassively as if waiting to see what he would do. His wrists were still bound, and seeing this Gohan refrained from attacking, unwilling to do something so unsporting to someone he had come to consider a friend no matter what was at stake.

For a few seconds they merely stood there, sizing each other up. Then, the Demon Queen raised her hand.

Vegeta tilted his head back, closing his eyes, and Gohan could feel the Prince's _ki_ rising. It leveled out well below the immense power that Vegeta had achieved prior to his death, and after waiting for a split second his eyes snapped open to turn the full force of his glare back onto the Demon Queen.

"What the hell was that, woman?" he demanded. "Where is the rest of it?"

"She has given you all that you need for this battle," Ahriman answered. "I suggest you be grateful that you have received even this much."

Gohan, meanwhile, was thinking. She hadn't brought Vegeta up to his full power level. The only question was why.

He thought back to his first two battles. First he had gone up against Radditz, then Nappa—in other words, everyone who had threatened the Earth since he was born, in chronological order. If Gohan's theory was correct, that meant that Vegeta was now at the power level he'd been at when he had first landed on Earth.

Vegeta's shackles had vanished, and he was now glaring at Ahriman. The Demon King glared back, unmoved.

"If you're going to fight," Ahriman said, "I suggest that you do it."

Vegeta didn't answer, only continuing to glare for a few more seconds before he turned and spat over the edge of the ring.

Seeing that it was up to him to make the first move, Gohan took a defensive stance. "Before we fight," he said, "there's just one thing I want to know." He paused. Vegeta turned to look at him, making no move, merely waiting to hear what Gohan had to say. "What do you get out of this if you win?"

For a second Vegeta hesitated, looking surprised. Then, however, he sank down into an offensive stance, his expression serious.

"The Demon King—" he glared in Ahriman's direction, "—offered me something I have been wanting for quite some time. And that is all I have to say on the matter."

Gohan blinked. He honestly hadn't expected a more straightforward answer from Vegeta, but he had to know all the same. "Is it important to you?"

Vegeta growled. "Yes." His answer was final, putting an effective end to further discussion.

"I see." Gohan bent his legs into a defensive stance. For a few more seconds, they continued to stare each other down.

Then, simultaneously, they lunged.

They met with a clash of fists against forearms; for a split second they both stood in the center of the ring, growling as they pushed against each other's guards, neither one of them willing to give.

Then, just as suddenly, they disappeared.

* * *

As far as most of the viewers could see, the two combatants in the ring had all but vanished, the only sign of them the occasional boom of colliding _ki_ as they reappeared for the merest fraction of a second, now in this corner, now in that, one of them blocking the other's fist or foot or knee…

Piccolo, however, was not an average viewer. He had been training at this level and higher for most of his life. He had fought in at least one deathmatch before the age of three. And he could not only see every move during their brief pauses, but everything that was happening in between as Vegeta chased Gohan up and down and across the ring, throwing out barrage after barrage of punches that Gohan was hard-pressed to dodge or block…

"Interesting…" Ahriman was once again tapping the end of his quill against his chin. "That's very interesting."

Piccolo did not answer; he knew that the Demon King was trying to bait him. Besides, he already knew exactly what Ahriman was talking about.

Gohan was holding back.

No matter what happened or how many openings Vegeta gave him, he continued to stay on the defensive, letting Vegeta drive him, giving his opponent control of the battle. Piccolo should have known all along that this would happen; the problem was not a lack of confidence or skill, but that Gohan was now fighting a friend. His student never could be persuaded to fully let loose against someone without the most grievous of provocation, and with their power levels artificially evened out, he would not be capable of beating Vegeta.

Perhaps, he thought, it was better this way. Better, that Gohan should lose now, and lose to a friend. The guilt he would experience as a result would be crushing, Piccolo knew, and he regretted that he would be the cause of it, but it would be better, far better, than what would follow if this tournament were allowed to continue.

_You had a good run of it, kid_ , he thought, but was unable to send over their blocked mental connection. _And I thank you for being willing to go through this for my sake. But know this: win or lose, I have not and never will consider you a failure._

He would have to tell that to Gohan outright, when he got the chance.

_If_ he got the chance.

For the time being, however, he continued to follow the battle, mentally preparing himself for another eternity of torment.

* * *

Gohan's roundhouse kick was jerked to a sudden halt as Vegeta's blocking hand closed around his ankle. "What is the matter with you, boy?" Not giving Gohan a chance to respond, he gave the foot a vicious twist, sending Gohan spinning down into the floor of the ring where he crashed into the tiles hard enough to leave a crater.

Vegeta lowered himself unhurriedly down to the floor as Gohan pushed himself up onto his elbows, landing several feet away with his arms crossed.

"What… are you talking about?" Gohan gasped, finally managing to get his feet under him; that crash had knocked all the breath from his lungs. Vegeta, he noted, had not even broken a sweat.

" _You're holding back!_ " Before he could even blink the Saiyan Prince was in front of him, both hands knotted in the folds of his gi as he dragged Gohan the rest of the way off the floor. "Where is your Saiyan pride? Fight me like you mean it, damn it!" He gave Gohan a rough shake, so hard that his teeth rattled.

"I…" Gohan reached up to grab Vegeta's wrists, but the Prince did not loosen his grip. If anything, he dragged Gohan up a little closer.

"What was that?" he demanded, his face mere inches from Gohan's.

"I… can't."

"And why not?" Vegeta was no longer shouting. On the contrary, his voice had now dropped to a low dangerous hiss.

"You really have to ask why?" Gohan demanded. Finally, he managed to pry one of Vegeta's hands away from him. "I'm not going to go all out against a friend!"

For a split second, the Prince of all Saiyans actually looked shocked. Then, however, he threw Gohan away from him with a look of disgust, as if he thought he would be contaminated if they maintained physical contact. One again Gohan went tumbling over the floor of the ring, catching himself by landing in a low crouch on the side nearest to Jahi.

"Pathetic!" Vegeta's power level was spiking, his aura flaring erratically, and Gohan realized that he was trying to transform in spite of his lowered strength. He stepped back into a fighting stance, his aura still crackling around him, a ball of _ki_ forming in his hand. "A real friend would give me a worthy fight!" He threw the blast.

There was no time to step aside. Hastily Gohan swatted it away, wincing as he felt his flesh sizzle. That burn was going to cost him, he knew.

Before he could even blink Vegeta was on him again, throwing out a barrage of rapid-fire punches. He was still managing to block—barely—but thanks to his anger Vegeta's blows were both faster and more erratic than before, and jolts of pain shot all the way up through Gohan's forearm every time Vegeta's fist made contact with his injured hand.

"And you call yourself a Saiyan?" Vegeta spat as he continued to throw punches. "You killed monsters at the age of eleven, and now you can't manage a simple sparring match?" Finally, he managed to find an opening; his fist drove into Gohan's stomach, so hard that the younger Saiyan doubled over in pain. Pressing his advantage, Vegeta followed that up with a swift double-fisted blow to the upper back, which sent Gohan once again crashing down to the floor of the ring.

Gritting his teeth, he raised his head from the floor of the arena. His body was surrounded by shattered tile. To the side, Piccolo continued to watch him impassively. The spectators were jeering for his defeat…

"Well, I'm not going to play this game with you any longer, boy!" Gohan's head snapped up; Vegeta was now hovering far above him, his aura was crackling all around his body, and his power level had spiked up to its maximum. "This ends now! Gallic— _Gun!_ "

Gohan barely managed to roll into a kneeling position and get his hands up in time. "Masenko—HA!"

The two beams of energy met in midair, creating an impressive fireworks display. The spectators' faces were bathed in opposing shades of flickering light.

Gohan's arms began to tremble as he fought to hold his position. Slowly, the nexus of the beams started to creep towards him.

"What were you thinking, boy?" Vegeta yelled as his attack continued to inexorably push Gohan's back. "You should have known better than to enter a battle without giving your all!" Another surge of energy, and now the intersection was mere inches from his hands. If it got any closer, he would be blown out of the ring. "You should have known better than to think you could stand up in a fight between true Saiyans!" Their eyes met across the interconnected beams. " _This_ is how you show your loyalty?" Another jolt of energy shot down the interconnected beams, and it was all Gohan could do just to hold it off. "You've failed completely! You're failing as a friend, and you're failing as a Saiyan! If you don't have the strength to take what you came for, you ought not to have come at all!" He glared back at Gohan. " _Now come at me with everything you have!_ "

"You're still going on about _strength?_ " Suddenly Gohan felt his indignation rise, and new energy surged into his body along with his anger. "Why do you think I came down here?" He forced himself to his feet. Suddenly, Vegeta's Gallic Gun was no longer threatening to overwhelm him. "You always fought for your pride, but I'm fighting for what _matters!_ " He took a step forward, and now the beams had reversed direction as well. "I may have failed as a Saiyan, but as a friend, you haven't seen me fail yet!"

With that, the beam of energy from Gohan's hands grew to exponential strength. He saw Vegeta's brows draw together and his mouth twist into a snarl as he realized he was losing the battle, but Gohan continued to hold his ground, pouring his very essence into the attack. In a matter of seconds it had overtaken Vegeta's Gallic Gun, and then Vegeta himself. Just before the light swallowed him, however, he closed his eyes with a bitter smile.

" _Well, woman, I won't be seeing you after this fight after all._ "

Just as suddenly as it had come, Gohan's determination flickered out. His hands fell limply to his sides.

Vegeta's body landed with a crash outside of the ring.

"The winner of the third match is Son Gohan."

Gohan swayed on his feet. He looked at the spot where Vegeta had fallen, his earlier determination quickly giving way to the guilt that was now beginning to bubble up from his stomach. The older Saiyan's armor was blown to pieces, the skin that showed through already beginning to turn purple with bruises.

What had he done?

For a few seconds Vegeta simply lay there, gasping for breath. As Gohan watched, however, he turned his head, slowly, until their eyes met. Slowly, he raised his hand from the ground, his fingers curling together until they formed a thumbs-up.

He smirked.

Then, he let both his head and his hand fall back to the ground, eyes slipping closed as he succumbed to a state of utter exhaustion.

A group of ogres came to carry him away as the Demon Queen raised her hand once again, whether to sap the rest of Vegeta's energy or to return enough for him to heal Gohan didn't know. Gohan continued to look after him until he was well out of sight.

"Will he be all right?"

"You know full well that he will. Much to his misfortune," Ahriman added under his breath. "Now, if you would be so kind as to step out of the ring so that we can repair it."

Knowing that there was no point in further inquiry, Gohan obeyed. As soon as he reached the ringside, however, he collapsed into a sitting position, not even feeling his injuries.

"Let it go, kid." As always, Piccolo seemed to have the uncanny ability to read his thoughts—even when he couldn't actually read his thoughts. "Vegeta knew what he was getting into, he made his own decisions."

Gohan clenched his fists at his sides. "He's a friend. He's my friend, and I went all-out…"

"He wouldn't have wanted anything less." Gohan shook his head. "Why do you think he said the things he did?"

Looking back at Piccolo, he was shocked to see that his mentor was actually showing emotion, his fists clenching tighter every couple of seconds before relaxing again. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

"You and Vegeta—" he started. Piccolo remained silent. "All that you had in there was each other… I know you never liked each other, but… you must have helped each other… right?"

A few minutes passed before Piccolo answered him, and once again, he seemed to know exactly what Gohan was trying to say. "Yes."

"All those years…" He shook his head again. "Why hasn't anyone come to get him out yet?"

"Your father has tried. Just as he did with me. But Vegeta… he would have none of it. He has his pride, Gohan," he continued at Gohan's shocked expression. "And besides… I think that there is someone else he is already counting on."

"Trunks." He breathed out slowly. "You know, I never really understood it. Pride." Gohan gave a soft laugh, completely without mirth. "Guess that makes me kind of a pathetic Saiyan, huh?"

"You've never needed it before. But sometimes… sometimes, pride is all you have left to hold onto."

Gohan was silent. Somehow, he knew that Piccolo wasn't just talking about Vegeta. In equal silence, he took up his meditative pose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favorite chapters to write, probably because it was such an emotionally charged fight. I especially enjoyed writing Vegeta's reformed self while still keeping his pride and his basic character intact.


	7. Duel of Fear Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Last Man Standing" by Hybrid

"The rules have now changed."

Gohan looked at Ahriman, startled. The Demon King continued to stare back at him impassively.

"To what?" He was, he admitted to himself, wary of this new declaration. Thinking back to the contract he'd signed, however, Gohan recalled that it had only specified that he would be fighting, and that his power level would be lowered to match his opponents'. There had been nothing whatsoever about the tournament rules—or whether they would be subject to change.

"From here on out, your rounds will be timed, but you will continue to fight against the same opponent until there is a clear winner. The end of each round will be accompanied by a power boost for both competitors, up until the highest potential of the weaker is reached."

Gohan nodded. "Anything else?"

"There will be no ring." Ahriman waved his hand.

With that, the drab landscape of Hell immediately disappeared.

Gohan gasped in pain, water streaming from his eyes at the sudden influx of bright sunlight. He clapped both hands over his face, hoping to give himself a chance to adjust more slowly after so much time in the dark.

If this was an illusion, Gohan thought as he slowly parted his fingers, it was a very complete one. Quite aside from the assault on his eyes, he could feel hot sunlight pounding on the back of his neck and soaking through the folds of his gi. Squinting through his fingers, he could see that the landscape was the only thing that had changed: Piccolo was still beside him, Ahriman still looked down on him from his throne, and the spectators were now scattering to whatever high vantage points they could find among the rock pillars which now dotted the land beneath the wide green sky.

Green…?

Slowly, he forced his fingers apart, and gasped at the familiarity of the landscape that now surrounded him.

He was on Namek.

Forgetting himself for a moment, he looked around in awe. The illusion was perfect, right down to the positions of the suns in the sky and the scent of the blue grass as it bent beneath his feet. The landscape was beautiful, and just as peaceful and serene as it had been when he had first landed—more so, in fact, since there were none of Frieza's henchmen waiting to jump out at him.

That thought, however, brought him immediately back to reality: illusion or no illusion, he was going to have to fight, and he had better be ready. Gohan admittedly didn't know for sure who his next opponent would be, but he was smart enough that he had begun to see the pattern. He had fought first Radditz, then Nappa, before finally reaching his showdown with Vegeta—in other words, every current or former villain who had threatened the Earth since he was born, in chronological order. If Gohan's theory was correct, then he had a few guesses as to who he would be fighting next.

_Let's see_ , he thought. _If I'm on Namek, that probably means that I'll be fighting someone I met there. We ran into a few of Frieza's henchmen right away—I never did learn their names. Will I be up against any of them…? No. I think that they're too weak for this tournament._ He thought back to the others who had constantly hassled him and Krillin in their search for the Namekian Dragon Balls. _How about Zarbon? Or that pink spiky guy, the one who nearly killed Dende?_ Gohan's fists clenched at the memory. _Then there's the Ginyus…_ He'd already gone against Guldo and Recoome in life, and he and Krillin had nearly died in both of those fights. And then there was Ginyu himself, who had, in a way, forced him into a deathmatch against his own father.

"I demand to know what is happening! Where are you taking me?"

…or maybe, just maybe, it would be Frieza himself.

Though he honestly couldn't say at this point that Frieza's presence was unexpected, Gohan was nevertheless met with one surprise when his opponent was led into his sight: the former tyrant was now in his base form.

_I guess he really did mean it when he said we would both be getting boosts._ Reaching out with his senses, Gohan found that Frieza's power was much less massive than it had been when he had fought against his father. And even though it started to rise as soon as he was released, Frieza did not initiate any of his metamorphoses. He must not yet be able to transform.

Frieza was struggling and twisting in his captors' grip, just as Nappa had been. When he laid eyes on Gohan, however, he immediately relaxed. "Oh, I see." Cautiously, his captors released their grip on him as his bonds disappeared. "Another monkey."

Gohan didn't move or respond. He already knew full well what Frieza thought of his race.

They faced off against each other, Frieza's tail lashing agitatedly back and forth. Neither one of them initiated battle, each waiting to see what the other would do.

"Well?" Frieza had halted his fidgeting, standing straight with his feet together and his hands clasped behind his back. Obviously he did not think much of Gohan's ability in spite of their artificially equal power levels.

"I'm ready whenever you are." Gohan dropped into a fighting stance.

Still, they both waited, neither one of them giving the other an opening by initiating the attack.

Then, Frieza took a step. Gohan mirrored him, turning his body to present the smallest possible target. In response, Frieza stepped to his side once again.

And on they went, circling each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move. This was the first match Gohan had fought where his opponent didn't jump right into the fight. As a matter of fact, now that he thought about it, this was the first match where he wasn't up against another Saiyan.

Gohan would have to be careful in this one. Frieza wasn't like Radditz or Nappa, or even like Vegeta. He was ruthless, and he wouldn't drag out the fight to make it more interesting unless he was sure he had the upper hand.

They took another step in their endless circle, Frieza's tail lashing agitatedly from side to side.

"Well what are you waiting for?" someone yelled from the audience. "Get on with it already!"

It wasn't much—but it was enough to push them over the knife-edge on which they were standing. Both leaped forward with a yell.

* * *

As Piccolo watched Gohan battle Frieza, a small part of Nail bristled within him at the sight of the tyrant.

_This is the bastard that wiped out our entire race._

Piccolo gave a mental nod. He knew, of course, thanks to the memories of the other Namekian with whom he had merged. The purpose of that fusion had been for him to avenge their race.

He had not been able to, of course. No, it was a Saiyan, just as it had always been a Saiyan—and it was Goku, just as it had always been Goku. Piccolo had fought, trained, fused, done everything in his power to make himself stronger, all for the sake of Gohan, yet it had never been enough.

He had been surpassed. Again and again, he had fallen behind—behind Goku, once his equal… behind Gohan, once his student… behind Goten and Trunks, before he had even taught them… The worst thing, he thought, was that his strength, his ability to defend the Earth and protect those he cared about, always seemed to be in inverse to his willingness to do so. He had not been able to earn a place in heaven, and now the boy he had once sworn to protect was fighting for his soul while Piccolo could do nothing but watch.

He had done nothing…

…and he could do nothing more.

* * *

Gohan threw a knifehand at Frieza's neck—but suddenly, Frieza wasn't there anymore. Gohan barely had time to register where his opponent was— _behind him_ —before pain exploded in his back and he was sent crashing into the nearest rock outcropping. The entire structure fell to pieces around him, those spectators who had chosen it as their perch taking off with cries of alarm; those without the gift of flight scrambled hastily away as soon as they hit the ground, leaving those trapped or injured to the mercy of the battle.

Looking up, Gohan saw that Frieza was coming at him full speed, his hand drawn back as energy gathered in his palm. Swiftly gathering his legs beneath him, Gohan sprang into the air just as the attack collided with the spot where he had been a split second ago. The entire pile of rocks immediately exploded into ash, accompanied by a chorus of agonized screams that were abruptly cut short.

In spite of his disdain for the native audience, Gohan felt his anger rising. Were the spectators afforded no protection at all?

Gohan narrowed his eyes in Frieza's direction. The evil tyrant, he noted, was smirking.

"That," he forced out from between gritted teeth, "was unnecessary."

"So what are you going to do about it?" Frieza's smirk widened. "Make me pay?"

In answer, Gohan launched himself downwards.

They met in a furious whirlwind of fists, their clash a flailing ball of limbs in the midst of the green sky. "Why are you doing this, Frieza?" Gohan shouted, dodging as the other's fists rushed past his face. He'd already asked the same question of Radditz, true, but the fact that none of the evil criminals, bullies, or tyrants he'd faced had been able or willing to answer this question only served to further stoke his fury. "Why is it that others' suffering is so appealing to you?" Swatting Frieza's hand to the side, he launched forward with a kick of his own.

"Why is it that _you_ have such an impetus to interfere in _my_ affairs?" Frieza countered, dodging Gohan's blows in turn. "What was it to _you_ , or those simpleton villagers, whether I was granted one simple wish?" He aimed a double-fisted blow at Gohan's abdomen, an attack which the half-Saiyan only just managed to block. "What were you even _doing_ on Namek anyway?"

"None—of your business!" Gohan, who still held Frieza's fists within his grasp, threw the tyrant away from him with all of his might. Frieza hit the ground hard, his feet digging trenches in the fertile soil, ripping up hunks of the delicate blue grass in his wake.

Not wanting to give Frieza any time to recuperate, Gohan dove down after him, gathering _ki_ as he did so. He did not want to fire ranged blasts for fear of harming the audience, but that would not be a concern if he just made sure that Frieza was unable to dodge.

Frieza, however, saw it coming. His countering blast clashed against Gohan's, throwing them forcefully away from each other. Gohan landed in a crouch next to a rock outcropping, Frieza on his feet at the edge of a lake.

For a split second, they stared at each other. Then, both rushed forward at once.

"Not my business, you say?" Frieza demanded as they pushed against each other, clashing at the exact midpoint between their previous positions. "I would have been immortal and ruling the galaxy now, if not for _you!_ "

"Why did you _want_ that so badly?" Gohan retorted. "Why is it that people like you never think of anything but your own gain?"

"What advantage do _you_ have fighting solely for others?" Frieza, apparently growing bored with their stalemate, spun backwards, lashing out with his tail. Gohan jumped over the appendage, letting his momentum carry him into a backwards handspring that took him several feet away from his opponent. "What have _you_ ever gotten out of any of this?" Frieza lunged at him again, his fist cocked back.

"I'm not the one who's languishing down here for the rest of eternity!" Gohan swatted Frieza's knifehand to the side, retaliating with an elbow strike of his own. Frieza bent to the side, and the strike hit empty air. "If you ever cared about anyone in your life, death wouldn't have been something to fear!" Not stopping his assault either verbal or physical, Gohan threw a high roundhouse at Frieza's head. Frieza's hand went up in time to block it, but only just. "Yet still you were willing to throw away everything that really mattered, all for your dream of immortality, and look where it ended! With the worst possible outcome!"

"Who are you to judge me, boy?" Frieza threw Gohan's leg away from him, and Gohan was thrown off-balance for a split second—but that split second was crucial. Frieza used the opening to launch himself forward, his fist catching Gohan right in the diaphragm. He doubled over, wheezing, an aching emptiness now filling his midsection as his lungs struggled—and failed—to draw another breath.

"You talk of suffering needlessly?" Frieza continued, continuing to hold Gohan up with a single arm. Gohan, still trying to catch his breath, looked up; the fist that had struck him was now his only support. "Why is it that you righteous types continue to insist on failing to understand that, if only you give me what I want, your death will be quick and painless? If I am feeling particularly generous, I might even let you live. But no, you always have to make things difficult—power can only be used for a noble cause, you say. Putting oneself first isn't right, you say. Pah." He drew his hand back, and Gohan sank down to one knee. His breath was now coming easier, but he was far from fully recovered.

"Well who are you, to decide what's right and wrong?" Suddenly, he lunged once again at Gohan, who had been surreptitiously gathering _ki_ in his hand. He was forced to leap backwards, his attack fizzling out as his concentration was broken. "How was it better to constantly resist than to allow me my goals and spare yourself some suffering?" He was now coming at Gohan with a flurry of punches and kicks, and Gohan could barely move his arms fast enough to block. If only his body would hurry up and recover…

"How would living under your rule have spared anyone suffering?" Gohan was still on the defensive, but he could breathe almost normally again, and his body was growing more responsive by the second. A forearm raised at the center of his body stopped Frieza's last punch cold. "Are you honestly saying you would have showed any of us mercy as the immortal ruler of the galaxy?" He lunged forward, driving his knee upward, catching the very surprised Frieza right under the chin. "Do you even know what mercy _is?_ "

"Obstinate monkey!" Quickly shaking off the blow, Frieza phased to the side to avoid Gohan's next kick. "Natural selection killed your kind off millennia ago! Well, spout your ideals all you want, but don't think that there's anything you can say to make me take you seriously!"

"Fine! Have it your way!" Dodging Frieza's incoming fist, Gohan launched himself into the air, bringing his hands to his side. "Kamehameha!"

He had tried to be quick about it in the hopes of taking Frieza by surprise, and the tyrant was indeed caught off-guard by the attack—but not off-guard enough. He saw the wave coming just in time to leap backwards, and when the smoke cleared Gohan could see that he had nothing but a few minor singes.

_Darn… I was really hoping to get him with that one._ Frieza glared back up at him as he casually brushed the soot from his forearms.

At least Gohan had had the foresight to budget his energy. He gathered his strength to his core as Frieza pushed off from the ground, his hand beginning to glow…

"Time!"

Gohan stopped automatically when the end of the round was called, freezing in midair and allowing his gathered _ki_ to dissipate. Unfortunately for him, however, Frieza did not like to play by the rules: no sooner had he lowered his guard than the energy attack Frieza has been charging exploded against his side, and such was the shock that he plummeted from the sky to come crashing down to the hard, unforgiving ground of Hell.

" _I called time!_ " Shaking his head to clear it, Gohan looked up. The illusion of Namek had faded, and both ground and sky were back to their drab, cheerless gray. Ahriman was behind him and slightly to his right; he had actually risen from his throne, looking furious. In front of him and slightly higher up hovered Frieza, equally furious and fighting against some invisible force that held him back.

"That will be taken out of your hide later," Ahriman hissed, his voice cold with anger, "winner or not. Do not think you are immune to judgment, Frost Demon." With that, he snapped his fingers, and Frieza was moved, still struggling, to the foot of Jahi's throne. Seeming to forget about Frieza completely now that he had been dealt with, Ahriman turned to Gohan. "Your health?" he asked without preamble.

Pushing himself into a sitting position, Gohan looked down at his ribcage, where a very large burn mark showed through a rip in his gi top. The whole thing had happened so fast that it hadn't even started to hurt yet, but it looked quite nasty nevertheless. "I've been better," he confessed.

In response, Ahriman turned to nod at his Queen, who raised a hand and gave him back a little more of his _ki_. Gohan stood, still shaky from the unexpected assault, and made his way back to the foot of Ahriman's throne.

"You are still not to speak to each other," Ahriman warned, seeing what he was doing. "Until there is a clear winner, you are still in a match."

Gohan nodded unhappily; he couldn't say that he hadn't been expecting this, but he didn't have to like it either. Grimacing as the motion caused his gi to rub painfully against the damaged skin, he sank down onto the ground and assumed a meditative position. Behind him, he knew that Piccolo was doing the same.

Forcing his body to relax, Gohan sought a quiet place where he could quickly heal as he allowed all further thoughts to dissipate from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frieza losing his cyborg modifications and reverting back to his lower forms is one of my major uses of artistic license. I'm sort of assuming that dead souls don't have the same limitations as living beings who still have their bodies. I do have my reasons for doing it this way, and I hope that's not a deal-breaker for anyone.


	8. Duel of Fear Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Burn You Up, Burn You Down" by Big Blue Ball

The two warriors met in midair, sending sparks into the skies of Namek as their auras clashed.

Of course, it was not really Namek. This was Hell, and Gohan was fighting Frieza in an illusory arena created solely for this battle.

Piccolo did not know whether Gohan had noticed, but new craters and pockmarks had appeared since his first round with Frieza, clods of dirt thrown every which way, clumps of the grass that was not really there torn up by the roots and left to die slowly of exposure.

He was forced to turn his face swiftly to the side to avoid yet another shard of rock that was sent flying his way by a stray _ki_ blast. Though he managed to save his eyesight, a sharp stinging sensation followed by the trickle of warm blood down his cheek told him that he had not come out unscathed. Worse yet, even that small turn of the head had caused him difficulty, which told him that he was pushing the limits of the binding spell that Ahriman had on him. If anything bigger came his way, he would not be able to save himself.

He knew better than to expect either compassion or mercy from the Demon King.

He looked sidelong at Ahriman. The fallen Kai was sitting apparently idle, but his eyes flicked rapidly back and forth over the battlefield, and Piccolo knew he was following Gohan's every move.

How was Ahriman planning to break him?

Piccolo had seen these fiascoes before. He was not the first of Hell's prisoners to have a loved one come down in an attempt to get him out; oh no, far from it. He had already witnessed many such tests of will, as Ahriman laughably dubbed them; he had even participated in several, in exchange for a day's reprieve or a word with Goku. Every single one of them had ended in failure for the plaintiff. The final result was either hatred or heartbreak. No exceptions.

Piccolo growled low in his chest. If only that idiot child had not signed the contract! Now Gohan would be forced to fight either to the bitter end or to a second death, and Piccolo knew him better than to entertain even a moment's hope that he might surrender. He was not even able to tell Gohan _why_ he must stop this fiasco, thanks to the Kais-damned spell that Ahriman still had him under.

Not that Gohan would have listened anyway.

Mentally, he cursed Ahriman, Yemma, and his father. Most of all, however, Piccolo cursed himself. Had he lived more righteously, he would have been with Gohan from the beginning and this whole mess need never have happened.

Still, he would watch. _Honor his bravery…_ That was what he had told Gohan, so many years ago. Win or lose, victory or failure, it was his duty to watch his student to the end.

He owed Gohan that much.

* * *

Far above him, the two competing warriors clashed once again in midair.

Frieza was now in his second form. Even though he was still far from his most powerful, his size was monstrous, and just the way he loomed over the smaller warrior was enough to give Gohan pause.

Swallowing his hesitation, he flew at Frieza, aiming a kick for his exposed stomach. Frieza, however, got a knee up just in time to block him, and Gohan practically bounced off of him, swatted backward by his own momentum.

This wasn't going to work.

Frieza lashed out with his tail, and Gohan only just managed to dodge in time. He sped toward the ground—hopefully he would have an advantage if he could hide among the rocks—but Frieza was in front of him again in a flash. Faster than the eye could see, they resumed their exchange of blows.

As they fought their way through the air, Gohan found himself being driven. In spite of the fact that their powers had been leveled, he was still at a slight disadvantage due to his smaller size and Frieza's extra appendages—a fact of which he was forcibly reminded when Frieza rushed him.

He noticed the way Frieza's horns were aiming just in time.

Gohan did not have time to counter the attack, or to fully dodge. He only managed to roll to the side, and even so he was still caught by Frieza's headbutt.

An audible cracking sound emanated from his ribcage as Frieza's head made contact with his torso, and his entire body was buffeted by miniature bursts of pain. When the stars stopped exploding in front of his eyes Gohan found himself pinned to the side of a cliff, Frieza's horns embedded in the rock to either side of his body. He had barely managed to avoid being skewered.

Just like Krillin _had_ been skewered, so many years ago…

"Huh. I could have sworn I'd get you through the heart on that one." Without moving his head, Frieza placed his hands against the rocks to either side of Gohan's body. "Well, no matter. This way will be more enjoyable anyway."

Gohan struggled, but found that he could not move. Grinning sadistically, Frieza began to push his head forward, and Gohan cried out at the burst of pain in his already-shattered ribs as his body was crushed into the unyielding rock. Something was going to have to give, and at the moment it didn't look as if that something was going to be either the rock behind him or Frieza's skull.

"What's the matter, little monkey? Finally realizing you can't play against the big boys?" He pushed his head further against the rock, and Gohan was unable to hold back a cry of pain as another jolt of agony shot through his entire body.

"Scream all you want," Frieza said viciously, giving another push. "It's not going to do you any good. Nobody helped you before, and nobody's going to help you now!"

Gohan was in too much pain to answer, or even to properly process the words. In an instinctive but nevertheless ineffectual effort to hold him off, he placed his hands against Frieza's head. His chest was constricting… it was getting harder and harder to breathe…

In a last-ditch effort to get out of his predicament, Gohan gritted his teeth and forced a focused beam of _ki_ into his palms. Darkness was swiftly gathering at the edges of his vision; he would only be able to attempt this once. If it didn't work…

His cry of agony became a scream of effort as he pushed his power up as quickly as he could. He didn't worry about whether Frieza would figure out what he was doing; even if he had been able to afford such a luxury as second-guessing himself, Frieza had never learned how to sense energy, and he doubted the Arcosian would be able to feel the growing physical heat through his thick skin.

He fired.

It did the trick: for a split second a bright light flared up between them, and then Frieza was forcibly thrown back from him. As his opponent tumbled end-over-end through the air, cursing every last member of the Saiyan race, Gohan was able to recover enough to pull himself from the rock, gulping air into his starved lungs, each breath a stab of pain.

He didn't know how much physical damage he had actually managed to do, but Gohan knew that he was not out of the woods yet: though Frieza was clutching his head as if in severe pain, his power level had barely dropped at all. Even as Gohan finished heaving his body out from the hole in the cliff, Frieza halted his wild tumble through the air, where he righted himself and glared back at his much smaller opponent through narrowed eyes. Gohan saw to his gratification that he had at least managed to leave a blackened burn mark on the top of Frieza's head.

"You'll pay for that one, boy," Frieza growled in his new, deep voice. His mouth twisted into a snarl of malice before he lunged once again.

Gohan knew that he could not afford another blow to the torso, not as battered as he already was. A good number of his ribs were already cracked, and one good hit was all it would take to send shattered bone fragments into his body. If that happened, there was more than a fair chance that one of them would hit something vital. Quickly, he formulated a plan. It was a simple one, but nevertheless left no room for error. His timing must be perfect. Too late, and he would take that hit. Too soon, and he would miss entirely, leaving himself wide open.

He braced himself as Frieza flew at him. As those gleaming horns got closer and closer, Gohan continued to keep an iron grip on himself, forcing his position to remain unmoving. _Not yet… not yet… almost there… NOW!_

Right when Frieza was nearly upon him, he flipped backwards in midair. Even as his upper body bent back and down, away from Frieza's assault, his feet came up. There was a satisfying crack as both of them connected solidly with Frieza's jaw, and it hadn't come from either of his feet. Gohan wasn't done yet, however: as he spun he brought both hands to his side, gathering _ki_ between his cupped palms.

"Kamehameha!"

Frieza did not have time to recover. Gohan saw his eyes widen briefly before the wave overwhelmed him, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake that obscured him from sight.

Even as the attack bore Frieza to the ground, however, Gohan found himself sinking involuntarily lower. The powerful technique coupled with his injuries had taken a lot out of him, and he was now gasping for breath. He had not won, he knew—he could still sense Frieza's energy—but he did not like the idea of fighting blind, and he didn't think that he could manage to continue the battle without at least a moment's rest.

So he allowed himself to touch down on the ground and waited, taking the air in quick, shallow gasps as he watched the cloud of debris clear. _Finish him, you fool_ , an inner voice shouted in his head—it sounded like Piccolo—but Gohan could not heed it. He was simply too exhausted.

* * *

"What the hell are you playing at?"

"Well, Piccolo, I do believe he is getting tired."

Piccolo growled, turning his head to glare behind him at the Demon King. "I was talking to you."

"Whatever are you talking about?" Ahriman asked, twirling his quill again.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about. I doubt Gohan has noticed, which is a pity, but this round has gone on for at least twice as long as the last one." Ahriman raised an eyebrow. "You're not timing the rounds. You're waiting for something."

There was a brief silence. When the Demon King finally responded, his voice was cold. "You," he said, "would do well to hold your tongue."

"And if I don't?" Piccolo chuckled, mirthlessly. "You've overplayed your hand— _Demon King_." He spat as much contempt as he could muster into those last two words. "There is nothing you can do to me that you are not already doing, have not already done, or were not going to do anyway. You have nothing left to threaten me with."

The quill snapped in half.

"Do you think I am _playing?_ " Ahriman hissed, though his neutral expression remained carefully in place. "I am simply doing the job that I came here to do. The only reason this is happening at all is that a good man agreed to pay for _your_ crimes, in return for _your_ freedom. He even offered to take your place, did you know that?"

For the moment, Piccolo could not speak, and anything he might have said in return had died in his throat. Gohan had been willing to suffer for the rest of eternity… for _him?_

"It didn't even occur to you, did it?" Ahriman's venomous words were so soft as to be nearly a whisper, but every one of them still fell crystal clear on Piccolo's ears. "The value of what you had is completely lost on you… as the magnitude of your crimes was lost to him."

Once again, Piccolo found himself unable to reply—and he didn't know anymore whether his involuntary silence was even due to one of Ahriman's spells. He returned his attention to the fight.

* * *

Finally, the debris had nearly settled—and Gohan had managed to get his breath back. He got into a fighting stance—and was forced to leap to the side as Frieza charged at him from out of the fog. Though he moved as quickly as his reflexes would allow, one of Frieza's horns still caught on his arm, ripping the skin open from wrist to elbow and only just missing the major arteries.

Gohan fell back into a kneeling position, gasping in pain as he cradled his injured arm to his chest. Frieza, however, was giving him no more time to rest: he turned and charged again, firing a barrage of _ki_ blasts. Gohan dodged frantically, but already he was growing lightheaded, his body's responses sluggish as the blood loss started to take its toll. Within seconds Frieza was on him again, the two of them a mere arm's length away from each other.

In an attempt to give himself more room to maneuver, Gohan took a step back—only to feel his back make contact with solid rock. Frieza had driven him right into the side of a mountain, and he hadn't been paying enough attention to his surroundings to notice until it was too late.

With a wicked smirk on his face, Frieza raised a hand that glowed with _ki_. Gohan, determined not to go down without a fight, summoned _ki_ to his good arm in turn. For a moment they stood simply staring at each other, locked in their stalemate.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Frieza taunted. "Are you hoping for someone to come along and save you?"

Snarling, Gohan raised his hand up to meet Frieza's. Above and behind him, he could hear the spectators flying or scrambling away in panicked droves, but he did not take his eyes off of Frieza.

"Go ahead." The tyrant's already monstrous face was demonically backlit by the glowing orbs that now surrounded both of their hands, giving an eerie cast to his hideous demeanor. "You're in worse shape than I am, little monkey. You're going to take more damage than me either way."

Gohan didn't answer; Frieza was telling him nothing that he did not already know, but the current situation left him with no choice. With a yell, he thrust his arm forward, pushing the gathered energy into a blast—only for Frieza's large hand to close around his wrist, slamming his arm into the rock behind him. The attack he had been charging guttered and died.

"Pathetic." Frieza's voice was haughty, and filled with scorn. "Even as a child, you gave me a better challenge than this. Wherever did your motivation go, hm?"

Gohan did not give him the satisfaction of an answer. He tried to kick out, to get Frieza to back off of him, but he was too depleted and too injured for his attacks to have any noticeable effect.

"If that's all the fight that you have left in you, I won't prolong your suffering any further." Obviously savoring the moment, he brought his glowing hand so close that Gohan could feel the heat on his face, pressing against his eyelids and the sensitive parts of his mouth. "If you're very, very unlucky, you might even survive." Once again, the ball of energy pulsed in its eagerness to be released. Gohan closed his eyes, bracing himself…

"Time."

"WHAT?!" Gohan opened one eye, to see Frieza glaring back at Ahriman. He did not throw the blast this time, but he did not let it dissipate either, and now that his eyes and attention were no longer fully on Gohan his hand drifted slightly as he spoke, from one side to the other, now closer, now further away. It was making Gohan rather nervous.

"I was about to win!" Frieza continued, fury still written all over his face. "You did that on purpose!"

"You have no idea what my purpose is." Ahriman was not raising his voice. He was not raising his hand. He was not summoning lightning or draining _ki_. He merely stood. That action alone, however, was enough to make Frieza take a step back from him, coming uncomfortably close to squashing Gohan against the rocks in the process.

"Had you not spent so much time gloating," the Demon King continued, "you would have had ample opportunity to finish the fight. But if this activity has come to bore you, I could always arrange to have you returned to your previous pastime—"

"N-no!" Frieza, Gohan realized to his surprise, was now shaking violently; his tail lashed so suddenly that Gohan had to duck, just in time to avoid the errant appendage that gouged out a chunk from the rock right where his head had been only a moment before. "Please, I didn't mean it, anything but that—"

"Then I suggest that you sit." Ahriman's cold, clipped voice still carried authority, in spite of the absence of any emotion. "The round is over."

Still trembling slightly, Frieza turned and walked some distance away before settling to the ground. Gohan stayed where he was, slowly sliding down to the base of the rocks and leaning his back against the sturdy structure behind him. He let out a sigh of relief as he received yet another influx of _ki_ , just enough to help him heal.

He had a feeling that the rounds were only going to get worse from here on out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really starting to dislike writing Frieza. Straight villains in particular have always given me trouble because I can't understand how they think, and this is one case in particular where I really have trouble getting into a character's head. If I can't rely on empathy, characterization involves far too much guesswork for my liking, and I never can be sure I've gotten him completely right.
> 
> ...why did I make Gohan vs. Frieza the most lengthy fight in this story again?
> 
> On the other hand, Piccolo's conversation with Ahriman was a scene that I really enjoyed writing. Hopefully it's as enjoyable to read as it was to write.


	9. Duel of Fear Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Stratosfear" (1995 mix) by Tangerine Dream

Gohan stood as the Demon Queen portioned out two more servings of _ki_ , one to himself, the other to Frieza.

He braced himself.

Sure enough, Frieza's transformation sent rocks flying into the air as his aura surged around him. Flaps of exoskeletal armor rose from his shoulders, and spikes grew from his back as his skull elongated.

Even as Frieza metamorphosed into something out of a small child's worst nightmares, a fierce wind sprang up that was not of his making. Grit, small pebbles, and blades of shredded blue grass flew through the air around him as the grim landscape of Hell was swept away into the beaten, torn-up world that Namek had become in its last moments.

It was not yet dead. But it was definitely dying.

Frieza completed his transformation. He leered, grinning sadistically at Gohan with a face that had caused him to wake up screaming for years on end after getting back from Namek. It wasn't until his father's return to Earth that the nightmares had stopped.

Gohan got into a fighting stance.

"Are you that eager to face your death, boy?"

"I'm already dead." He said it quietly, flatly, without emotion or inflection. "As are you."

Frieza only chortled. "True. Very true. But after enough time down here, you learn that there are things so much worse than death."

Gohan didn't answer. He lunged.

This time, instead of meeting him head-on, Frieza drew backward, leaping high into the air. Raising an arm above his head, he swiftly gathered _ki_ at his fingertip, shooting a slender beam of energy as he brought his hand swiftly back down. Gohan phased to the side just in time to avoid being hit, but even though his dodge was successful, Frieza immediately followed it up with a barrage of other small beams, moving back just as quickly as Gohan moved forward, and Gohan was forced to project his _ki_ in front of his body in order to shield himself.

It worked, but it was also draining his energy, and Frieza wasn't letting up. The way they were situated the wind was against him, and as things were he couldn't hope to catch Frieza, only to keep pace with him at best. If they kept on like this, it would come down to a matter of who tired first, and right now Gohan wasn't liking his odds. He had to be more proactive if he wanted to win.

Continuing to chase after Frieza, he looked for an opening. Gohan couldn't use _ki_ attacks while maintaining the shield, and as long as their power levels remained equal, he would never be able to catch Frieza as he was. If he dropped the shield, however, it would stop draining his _ki_ and give him an extra burst of speed. The only thing he didn't know was whether his reflexes were up to the task…

Well, there was nothing for it but to take the chance. He saw an opening, and let the shield drop.

Letting go of the shield did allow him to put on an extra burst of speed, but Frieza saw what he was doing and changed his aim. Dodge as he might, Gohan was immediately hit just above the kneecap, and a multitude of other blasts peppered his torso. Hastily, he threw the shield back up, and his ears were met with a cruel laugh.

_I should have known_ , Gohan thought bitterly. _Frieza used to do this for **fun**. Of course he would be able to hit a moving target…_

* * *

_He had thought, when Piccolo arrived, that they were saved. As Frieza's body shifted into yet another new form and his power level spiked, Gohan began to realize just how wrong he was._

_His fears were proved right as Frieza began to beat on Piccolo with a savage pleasure, and a brutality far worse than anything Nappa could have managed. Within seconds his mentor's clothing was ripped to shreds, and he was bleeding all over from various small wounds. Frieza, he knew, was dragging it out on purpose, trying to hit the places that would cause the most pain. He did not have the mercy to finish it quickly, but he would finish it; Gohan had no doubt of that._

No _, Gohan thought._ He can't die again! He's only just come back—!

_At that moment, he stopped thinking about preserving his own life, or about what would be the wisest course of action. All he knew was that his teacher was being brutally hurt, and that there was a fiery anger surging through his body in response. Gathering his power to his core, he flew behind Frieza. He did not worry about being detected: Frieza could not sense energy, and besides, all of his attention was focused on Piccolo. A child as small as Gohan was would likely escape his notice._

_It worked. Gohan did not hesitate, but poured all of his rage into the largest Masenko he could conjure up. He threw it at Frieza._

_For a very brief moment, he thought he had won, and relief washed through him as his attack bore Frieza to the ground. That relief was short-lived, however, as after only a few seconds of struggling Frieza managed to push his own attack back at him._

_Light filled his eyes. Gohan froze; he could not have moved to save his life—and moving was the only thing that would save his life. It was Nappa all over again. He was going to die, and—_

_Another_ ki _attack flew at him out of nowhere, colliding with his Masenko just hard enough to deflect it away from him. He looked down. There was Piccolo, still wounded, gasping with the effort, but he had managed to save Gohan's life—again._

_That deflecting blast, however, had been the last of his energy. He was no longer in any shape to move, much less fight, and Gohan had had to carry Piccolo off of the battlefield himself._

_He had been hoping, so badly, that his teacher would rescue him. This time, however, Gohan had been forced to become the protector._

* * *

"Nice try, little monkey," Frieza taunted, jarring him back to the present. "But not good enough, I'm afraid." Once again, he raised his finger. Gohan flew at him, only for his fist to hit air when Frieza expertly dodged.

Once again, they both stopped moving. As things stood, they were locked in a dead stalemate. Frieza, for the moment, had stopped shooting his finger beams, but Gohan knew that he could resume at any time, and kept his shield up. He weighed his options.

He could keep going on as he had, and be locked in a stalemate until Frieza decided to blast him with something heavier or Ahriman ended the round. Not liking the idea of leaving the outcome of this battle up to chance, he immediately discarded both of those options. He could also drop his shield and go after Frieza with a _ki_ attack, but charging up a powerful technique would take time, more than enough time for Frieza to dodge the attack and counter with one of his own.

Or he could drop the shield and take the pain, and take the gamble that he would be able to get close enough to Frieza to get in a good attack before he took too much damage himself.

Gohan didn't like it, but right now it looked like his best option.

Still keeping the shield up, he backed into a fighting stance, turning his body so as to present the smallest possible target. He tucked his head, moving one arm in front of his torso to give as much protection as he could to his vitals. The other arm, he moved in front of his eyes.

Frieza stopped laughing. His eyes widened as he realized what Gohan was doing.

Dropping the shield, Gohan charged.

The second the shield dropped, his body was once again immediately peppered by small blasts that burned even as they cut. His arms and shoulders took the brunt of the damage, but a burst of pain also sliced through his ear, followed by a warm trickle of blood down the side of his head. He gritted his teeth in pain but kept his arm firmly in front of his eyes, using his _ki_ -sense to guide his trajectory. The blasts began to hit harder and thicker as Frieza panicked. There was a sudden spike of _ki_ from his opponent—he was giving up on the small blasts in favor of charging up an attack that would do serious damage. Gohan's stomach plunged, and he put on a burst of speed.

There!

Finally, he had come within reach of Frieza. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Gohan swung his lower body forward and lashed out simultaneously with both legs, ramming his feet into Frieza's chest. The _ki_ that Frieza had been charging flickered out of existence as he flew backwards from the force of the blow, slamming into a mountain that immediately crumbled. Gohan, not wanting to lose the advantage he had gained, did not let up, throwing blasts as fast as he could conjure them, using his _ki_ -sense to aim while simultaneously zipping around and counting on the growing dust cloud to shield him from Frieza's sight. He finished the assault by throwing a Masenko that kicked up even more debris, showering dirt into his hair and pelting the spectators with rocks.

Finally, it was over. He hovered above the pockmarked battlefield, panting with exertion, as he waited for the gale-force winds to blow away the lingering dust. That last attack had taken a lot out of him, as had his injuries. He could no longer sense Frieza's _ki_ , which hopefully meant that his opponent was unconscious, but he didn't want to drop his guard until he knew for sure that Frieza was down.

Suddenly, the wind changed direction, and a clot of dust was thrown viciously into his face by a particularly violent gust. Letting out a small gasp of pain, Gohan raised a hand to rub at his streaming eyes.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the combination of tears and rubbing managed to wash the grit from his eyes. Lowering his hands, he squinted through a haze of tears, and found himself looking directly down into the crater that Frieza's body had made in the ground.

Frieza wasn't in it.

He had only a split second to panic before he felt Frieza's _ki_ flare up behind him, and something struck him hard in the small of the back.

_From behind?!_

Gohan hit the dirt face-first, plowing a furrow with his body as _ki_ blasts rained down all around him. The ground abraded roughly against his face and arms, and even though the shock was too immediate for him to feel pain, he knew that it would definitely hurt later.

Finally, he skidded to a stop. Gohan pushed himself up onto his forearms as a cruel laugh sounded from above him.

"Silly little monkey," Frieza taunted. "Did you really think your silly parlor tricks were going to carry you to victory?"

Gohan turned to glare upward at Frieza, shifting his support to only one arm. "How… did you do it?" he demanded, still gasping for breath.

Frieza laughed. "You really haven't figured it out yet, have you? Have you forgotten that your pathetic race is not the only one to be gifted with transformation?"

Gohan's eyes widened as the full implications of that statement hit him. While Gohan was bombarding him, Frieza, shielded from sight by the cloud of debris, must have taken the opportunity to shift back into his base form. He might not have known how to suppress his power level consciously, but the shift alone would have produced a significant drop in _ki_ —enough of a drop that Gohan, seeking someone on the level of Frieza's third form, would not think to notice…

There was no more time to think, however, as a larger blast came down at him, and Gohan barely managed to roll to the side in time to avoid being hit dead on. As it was, the force of the explosion threw him into the air, and right into the path of Frieza's waiting fist.

Pain exploded in his body, all breath knocked from his lungs as Frieza pummeled him just below the ribcage. For a moment, Gohan could only hang immobile in the air, unable to breathe. Frieza, seeing this, pressed his advantage and hit Gohan again, this time in the chest. Again he was sent flying, straight into a mountain of loose rocks that crumbled on top of him.

Darkness. He was surrounded by darkness.

He could not see; he could not breathe. Pressure was crushing down on all sides of his body. No light… no air…

Frantically, Gohan gathered his power. With panic strength, he released a surge of _ki_ that blew the rubble away from him in all directions.

Air! He could breathe again.

Taking the air in great gulps, Gohan strained all of his senses in search of Frieza, pushing his _ki_ -sense to the limit just in case he had decided to transform again. His eyes still burned from the sudden influx of light, and the wind that was once again swirling around him forced him to squint, but he could still manage to pick up a faint glimmer of _ki_ …

There!

Turning, Gohan threw up a shield just in time to block another round of blasts. Bending his knees, he pushed off from the ground in hot pursuit of his opponent, but Frieza dodged easily, phasing to the side before he could connect. Gohan, in contrast, was gasping for breath; he had expended a lot of energy in the last few minutes, and it was beginning to cost him.

Frieza, however, was not letting up. He continued to come after Gohan with both punches and energy blasts, and Gohan, try as he might, was unable to land any hits on Frieza in turn.

One of Frieza's blasts finally managed to hit him dead on, throwing him forcibly backwards. Gohan's return fire was simply shrugged off or dodged. At this point Gohan had given up all hope of winning the round, instead directing all of his focus into retaining consciousness until Ahriman called for a halt. Another blast hit him—another burning pain. How long had he been fighting? How much longer would he be able to hold out? Would the round end soon? He had to keep going. He had to hold out… for…

"Time."

Frieza's barrage immediately stopped, though his ears still picked up a frustrated growl. Gohan, too exhausted to land properly, simply let himself drop where he was. It seemed as if the hard ground rose up to meet him, jarring through his back and shoulders. Frieza was speaking again. Ahriman answered, but he could not make out the words. Everything was fading into oblivion, and even the Demon Queen's gift of _ki_ was unable to hold him in the waking world.

Darkness overtook him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I discovered while writing some of these scenes that I have a bad habit of forgetting about the environment in which the fight is taking place. Thankfully, I managed to catch this before I got too far into the second draft.
> 
> Coming next: the final round of the Gohan vs. Frieza fight.


	10. Duel of Fear Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "New Divide" by Linkin Park

"Gohan? Gohan."

He groaned, bringing an arm up to shield his eyes. The light shining into his face was near-blinding, and he couldn't make any sense of what he was seeing.

"Gohan." The voice, though it had not taken on any harshness, was much sterner than before. "Gohan, look at me. Open your eyes."

In spite of his weariness, in spite of his exhaustion and the overpowering need to rest, there was something in that voice that compelled him to obey. Gohan forced his eyes open.

The light, though still bright, was slightly more bearable, and now that he had had a moment to adjust, he could finally make out the silhouette of the speaker. There, framed from behind by the brilliant haze, was a head of spiky black hair.

"F-father?"

The other man smiled, though his expression immediately turned solemn again. "I know that you're tired, son. But you need to get up now. There are people out there who are counting on you."

He tried to lift himself up onto his elbows, but immediately fell back again with a groan. "Why is it always me?"

A sigh. "I don't know." His father moved forward, and in a few steps was kneeling down beside him. "I don't know why it is that so often, you're the only one who's strong enough. But right now, you are, and that gives you a duty to those you can help." He reached out a hand.

Gohan grasped it, and was pulled to his feet in one smooth motion. For a moment, the two of them only stood there. Then, his father clapped him on the shoulder.

"Go." He was smiling again. "Go, and be the hero I know that you are."

Gohan smiled back at his father one last time. He turned away…

…and disorientation hit him immediately as the white light faded to gray, and he found himself, without having moved at all, in a position he hadn't been in an instant ago. His father was gone. The haze of white light was gone. Instead, he was lying on his side on the ground in the lowest pit of Otherworld, his face pressing into the dirt. Dust and dried blood coated skin and clothing alike, and when he sat up, a good half of his face came away caked with grit. Using what was left of his shirtfront, he wiped the grime away as best he could.

The spectators were laughing again.

Ignoring them, Gohan got to his feet, still too dazed to immediately orient himself. So he took his only option and went back to the beginning. He had been battling with Frieza, he remembered that much. Come to think of it, he had barely managed to hold out until the end of the round, at which point he had lost consciousness. They must have left him where he had fallen.

Grimacing at the thought, Gohan continued to take stock of himself. His wounds had healed again; that at least was one thing in his favor. He also felt stronger than before, which indicated that the Demon Queen had returned another portion of his rightful power while he was still unconscious. That influx of energy might even have been the catalyst that had caused his dream.

It could also only mean that the next round was about to begin.

"Are you quite ready to get started?" The voice, cold as ice, was coming from somewhere to his right. "Or would you like a bit more time to admire the scenery?" Gohan turned.

Frieza was in his final form. He stood only a few paces from Gohan, glaring, his arms crossed and his tail wrapped around his feet. In spite of his cutting words, he made no move to attack, and Gohan realized that the round could not begin until both of them were ready.

"No," he said, turning to face Frieza in full. "Let's end this. Once and for all."

The moment the words had left his mouth, the landscape changed again. The already-dull sky darkened to pitch-black, seeming almost to boil with a wrathful turbulence. Flashes of lightning danced across the roiling clouds. Beneath their feet, the ground shuddered. Cracks appeared in the earth, raw wounds from which molten rock began to seep. Fire spewed into the sky.

This was how Namek had looked in its last moments.

For a moment, neither moved. They faced off against each other, flashes of lightning reflected from Frieza's skin.

Then, the ground beneath them rumbled, forcibly enough to throw most of the spectators off of their feet. A large crack opened up in the ground between them, spewing fire and a rain of molten-hot rocks.

They both leaped into the air at once.

Lightning flashed around them as they met in midair, forearms clashing. It lasted for only a split second, however, before the light flickered out again, plunging them into darkness, the only light the eerie red glow from the fires. Both tried to strike at once, and both anticipated the move, catching each other's fists even as the punches were thrown. For a moment they struggled, pushing against each other in midair, but then Gohan was forced to leap back as Frieza's tail lashed out at him.

Even as he fell back, however, Gohan powered up, bringing his hands to his side. "Kame…"

Frieza, seeing what he was doing, also leaped back, lifting one arm into the air. A crackling sphere of red and black leaped into being at the end of his fingertip.

"Hame…" Gohan could feel the power beginning to gather in between his cupped hands. He only needed a little bit more…

Frieza threw the ball.

"HA!" A cascade of energy exploded from Gohan's cupped hands as he thrust them from his side to his front. His father's signature technique met Frieza's head-on.

There was a brilliant explosions of fireworks as black met blue, and the radiance of their attacks completely overshadowed the light from the fires around them. For a moment, the competing colors swirled in a vortex between them: black would threaten to overwhelm blue as red sparks crackled around the nexus of the beams, but then Gohan's lighter energy would overtake Frieza's, swirling around it until the black was nearly consumed. For a few minutes they simply struggled that way, each fighter pushing against the other's energy, but Gohan knew, and he knew that Frieza knew, that they couldn't go on like this forever. Sooner or later, something would have to give.

On the other end of their energy battle, he could see Frieza becoming impatient. His mouth twisted, and he poured more energy into his attack in an attempt to gain the upper hand. Gohan, seeing this, responded in kind in order to keep from being completely overwhelmed. The nexus of the beams shook violently, and ballooned outward in size. Frieza pushed again with a scowl, and once again, Gohan matched him. Again and again the ball grew, until it was very nearly brushing up against the combatants.

Another shudder went through the ball, accompanied by a particularly violent crackle of electricity. Gohan's eyes widened as he realized, just in time, what was happening: the more energy they poured into their beams, the more unstable the meeting point became, and they had finally reached the point where only the tiniest of nudges was required to send it over the edge.

Biting back a curse, Gohan cut the energy to his Kamehameha wave, and propelled himself backward as fast as he could go.

The ball exploded.

Suddenly, the illusory arena was bathed in the light of a thousand suns. Gohan managed to get an arm up just in time to shield his eyes, but was nevertheless still dazzled by the brilliant explosion. If the screams of pain coming from in front of him were anything to go by, Frieza had not been even that lucky. Pressing the advantage while he still had it, Gohan charged.

Using his _ki_ -sense to guide him, he rammed into Frieza with both fists extended.

His blow connected—not with normal warm flesh, but with something cold and hard like exoskeletal armor. A grunt from Frieza indicated that his blow had at least had some effect, even if it hadn't produced a significant drop in his opponent's energy. A limb lashed out at him—he caught it blindly—and then they were exchanging a furious barrage of blows high in the air. Only some of them connected with Frieza's hard carapace; other times, Gohan's fist or foot would simply slice through empty air, leaving him open to attack in turn. Similarly, many times he heard the _swish_ of displaced air as a limb passed over his head or directly in front of his face, but just as often he was pounded in the torso by Frieza's fist or foot or tail.

The stalemate was ended when something slammed into his jaw with the force of a sledgehammer, and Gohan was unable to stop himself from flying backward from the fray, holding his face. Remembering a split second later that he was still in a fight, he quickly lowered his hands, to find that his vision was finally beginning to return. There, hovering in front of him, was Frieza, gasping for breath, his white skin littered with dark bruises and a trickle of deep purple blood running from the corner of his mouth.

For a moment, they stared. Then, they closed with each other again.

* * *

_Another time, another place._

_Another dying Namek._

_Krillin, screaming in pain and fear, was forcibly lifted into the air while the others looked on, helpless to interfere. Then, an explosion obscured him from sight._

_The screaming stopped._

_Piccolo fell next, a hole through his chest._

_Then, Frieza turned his sights on Gohan. He was going to be next._

_Then, his father…_ changed _. A scream of rage tore from his throat, his power level shot higher than it had ever been before, and his hair stood gold for the first time._

_He was a monster._

_For the first time in his life, Gohan was afraid of his daddy—and what was even worse, it seemed as if his daddy was afraid as well._

* * *

To the spectators on the ground, the limbs of the two combatants became a blur just as soon as they got within arm's reach of each other. Their exchange of physical blows was accompanied by a barrage of _ki_ blasts that produced a series of explosions in the air between them. Neither was bothering to shield this time: they both wanted it to be over, and each was sacrificing his own wellbeing in favor of doing the maximum possible amount of damage to the other.

At this rate, the fight was not going to last much longer.

Once again, Frieza lashed out with his fist. Gohan dodged—only to run right into the waiting tail, which promptly wrapped around his neck.

He let out a strangled cry, instinctively raising his hands to grasp the tail, but it was no good: Frieza's grip held him fast.

Just as he had held onto Nappa…

Lightning crackled around them as he redoubled his efforts, thrashing from side to side, only to feel Frieza's tail tighten in return. He wasn't going to get out of this predicament by struggling alone.

This was not merely an attempt to cut off his air supply. Frieza was trying to snap his neck.

Gohan panicked. He flared his aura around him, but Frieza was anticipating the move and kept his grip with ease. The tail tightened further, hot pressure built in his face, and it became impossible to draw a breath. He couldn't even manage a scream. His ears were filled with a loud creaking, a sound that could only be several of his vertebrae getting ready to give.

Finally, Gohan's hands dropped to his sides as he could no longer muster up the strength to hold up his arms.

What would his father do?

_I don't know why it is that so often, you're the only one who's strong enough. But right now, you are, and that gives you a duty to those you can help…_

His father wouldn't give up…

Gohan's vision was darkening by the minute, but when another fountain of lava shot from the ground behind them, he still caught it in from the corner of his eye. Without thinking, without planning, he propelled himself backward.

Frieza let out a yelp as the lava made contact with his back, and his tail loosened just enough for Gohan to wrench himself free. With Frieza no longer holding him up, he immediately plummeted to the ground, his vision darkening as he fought to get his breath back. Above him, he could hear a barrage of curses. He smiled slightly, but had no leisure to enjoy his small victory, as a rain of Death Beams immediately showered down on him.

Forcing himself to turn, he blindly threw up a shield. Twisting his body further, he managed to right himself just before he hit the ground. Gohan slid backwards, both due to his own momentum and under the force from Frieza's constant barrage, and he felt rock breaking against the backs of his heels as he slid to a halt. By the time that he came to a standstill, intense heat on his back told him that he'd just missed sliding into a lava pit himself.

Panting, he looked up. Frieza was still hovering above him, stark white against the blackened sky, lightning illuminating his skin. He gave Gohan a predatory grin.

"Well, monkey, I must admit I'm surprised you made it this far. But this is the end for you…" his eyes narrowed, "…just as it was for Vegeta."

Gohan glared up at Frieza in turn, and his hand, shaking with anger, clenched into a fist. "Come down here," he challenged, his voice quiet in contrast to Frieza's yelling, "and I'll show you the spirit of the Saiyans."

Frieza raised his chin slightly with a haughty expression. Then, he did just as Gohan had suggested.

They met again in a clash of limbs, each lashing out with an unrestrained ferocity. They weren't bothering with _ki_ attacks this time. For the most part, they weren't even bothering to block. The only thing in their minds was doing as much damage to each other as possible; everything else had been completely driven out. Gohan felt cold flesh give way under his fist, grunting slightly as Frieza's foot buried itself in his stomach in turn, but made no break in his own attacks.

Then, Frieza stepped back from him slightly, tilting his body backwards as he placed one hand on the ground. Gohan, taken off-guard, didn't figure out what he was doing until Frieza pivoted on his hand, swinging his entire body around…

_The tail!_

Frieza smirked as his tail swept out at Gohan's exposed ribs—but Gohan was ready this time, and Frieza's smug expression changed to one of shock as the appendage was caught and held fast. He struggled, jerking backward, but Gohan kept a firm grip and refused to let go.

Gohan tightened his grip. Then, he swung with all his might.

Frieza's face collided with the ground hard enough to shatter stones. He didn't even manage to get his hands underneath himself before Gohan swung again, viciously. Frieza's second collision was illuminated by a flash of lightning that threw his terrified expression and the flying shards of rock into an instant of sharp relief. Again, Gohan repeated the move, and again, and again, as the ground rumbled beneath them and lightning forked across the sky.

Finally, his arms began to tire, and he stopped. Frieza lay facedown on the ground in front of him, his limbs giving the occasional twitch, but otherwise unable to move. Gohan's grip on his tail was so firm that it was a conscious effort to unfurl his fingers, but he eventually managed to pry the stiffened digits from around his opponent's tail. Even after he let go, his hands were still curled into stiffened claws.

Unhurriedly, he stepped forward, kneeling down beside Frieza's prone body. "Say it."

The ground rumbled beneath him. Frieza turned his head slightly, just enough to fix him with a glare from a single, hate-filled eye. "Never."

"Say it." He spoke louder this time. Placing a hand on the back of Frieza's head, he pushed down viciously, grinding his opponent's face into the dirt.

"You... pathetic monkey." Frieza's voice was muffled; he tried to push himself up from the ground, but Gohan held him fast. "You really are... just like the rest of them, aren't you? Bloodthirsty animals—"

He never managed to finish his sentence, as in a sudden surge of anger, Gohan slammed his face back into the dirt with every ounce of his remaining strength. " _Say it!_ " Another plume of magma shot from the ground mere inches from their position, and Frieza thrashed about frantically beneath him with panic strength, but Gohan did not relinquish his hold, instead continuing to push down viciously, all the while sporting a snarl that would have been better suited to Vegeta. He tasted copper. A trickle of warm blood ran from the corner of his mouth, tickling as it dripped down his chin. A shove forward, and Frieza's face was now only millimeters from being bathed in molten rock. "I swear to Kami, if you don't say it right now I'm going to send you to your second death, and good riddance!"

Frieza was flailing more wildly than ever as droplets of hot lava rained down around his face. He began to scream in pain as the heat from the dying planet began to burn into his face, though his cries were still muffled by dirt. The scent of burning flesh wafted into Gohan's nostrils. "I… mmph… surrender!"

His face was so deep into the dirt by this point that Gohan could barely hear him, but when the landscape around him changed, he recognized the forfeit for what it was. They were no longer on a broken and battered Namek, but in the stark gray landscape of Hell.

The anger, however, still throbbed in his veins every bit as hotly as the lava that only seconds ago had burnt against his face. Only semi-conscious of his position, still grinding Frieza's face into the dirt, he raised his free hand, his fist clenched for a strike—

—only to be thwarted in his efforts when a blue bubble of energy came in between him and his prey, pushing him away.

"That is quite enough." Ahriman was standing, and had one hand raised. "You have won this battle. Unless you wish to be disqualified, you will return to the sidelines until your next opponent is brought out."

Gohan was still breathing heavily, taking the air in deep gulps, but somehow, he managed to clench his shaking fist back to his side, and then from there, to remove his other hand from the back of Frieza's neck. Slowly, he stood. He gave Ahriman a hard look but did not argue, instead turning on his heel and striding over to his place by the foot of the Demon King's throne.

Piccolo, as always, was waiting. Wordlessly, he replaced Gohan's outfit, but Gohan could still the question in his mentor's eyes.

"Don't," he said forcefully. "I'm—"

Just what he was, however, Gohan couldn't say. "I just want to rest for awhile," he amended, letting out a breath. Though the concern did not leave his eyes, Piccolo accepted that with a nod, and they both returned to their meditation.


	11. Duel of Legacies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Fire Nation" by Two Steps From Hell

When Ahriman called the beginning of the next round, Gohan got up without a word. In equal silence, he moved to stand within the circle of spectators.

Minutes passed, and still there was no sign of his opponent. Only when the crowd began to grow restless, however, shifting about and whispering among themselves, did Gohan turn his attention to the Demon King. "Um… is he…?"

As soon as he opened his mouth Gohan braced himself for Ahriman's rebuff, but the Demon King surprised him by letting out a sigh. "Yes, he is on his way. But this is an opponent that requires some… special… preparation."

Gohan, though he thought it would be rude to ask for more information outright, couldn't help but cock his head to the side in slight curiosity. There had to be some special significance to Ahriman's words, and the more he knew, the better off he would be.

To his surprise, Ahriman actually answered his unspoken question. "The opponent you will be facing cannot be… restrained… through the use of traditional methods. Special precautions are necessary to prevent him from becoming a danger to the citizens of Hell."

"I see." Gohan said no more, but stood where he was, his fists clenching and unclenching ever so slightly. From the patterns he had been seeing, he already had more than a vague inkling of who this mysterious new opponent was, and why he could not be controlled in the same manner as any of the others. If he was right, then this would be his most difficult battle yet.

He did not know how long he stood there before he finally heard three sets of unhurried footsteps. Gohan kept his eyes on the ground as the crowd parted.

"Hello, Doctor Gero," he said without looking.

"My reputation precedes me, I see." The crowd around them began to move back, giving them plenty of space; the escort, as well, backed off, though the ogres both continued to keep a watchful eye on Gero. Each was holding something in his hand, and though Gohan could not make out quite what the unknown objects were, they did not seem to be the sticks that were typically carried by the guards.

"What do you want?" Gohan asked, fixing his gaze on Gero at last. In his peripheral vision, he saw the landscape change to the craggy, mountainous terrain that had surrounded Gero's hidden lab in life. Not good.

"Everyone who fights in these battles gets something out of it if they win," he continued. "Vegeta, Nappa, Radditz, Frieza—all had something that they wanted. So what's in it for you?"

Gero shrugged. "What else could I possibly want? I never got to see Son Goku defeated in life, you see. I was crushed well before my greatest creation reached its maturity. If I win, the Demon King has agreed to request that your father come down here and fight Cell again, but on _my_ terms—just as you are now."

Gohan gritted his teeth. Once again, here was yet another old enemy with a grudge against his father—and once again, it had all come down on his head.

Still, there was nothing for it. He took a fighting stance.

For a moment, they only stared at each other. Then, Gero vanished.

Gohan whipped his head around frantically. His opponent had moved so fast that Gohan hadn't seen which direction he had taken, and thanks to the fact that Gero was an android, Gohan's ability to sense _ki_ would be completely useless to him in this battle. If Gero managed to get the drop on him…

Biting back a curse, he shot straight up into the air. He was at a severe disadvantage in this battle, and he knew it, but maybe increasing his visual range would give him the edge that he needed.

He made sure that he was well above the crags before he stopped his flight. Gero would have a much harder time sneaking up on him while he was this high—but neither would he be able to effectively hurt Gero.

_I need a plan_ , he thought as a frigid breeze wafted through his hair. He could simply hold out like this, and wait for the round to end, but Gohan did not like that option. For one thing, unless something drastic happened, he would be stuck in this stalemate for the rest of eternity, hovering above the rocks while Gero waited below. Worse yet, it was impossible for Gohan to remain airborne without expending some energy. The use wasn't great, it was true, but he didn't have infinite _ki_ , and given enough time, it would start to tell on him. No matter how much time it took, he would eventually run out of energy, at which point he would fall to the ground and be at Gero's mercy.

There had to be another way. Gero must want something, and Gohan was sure there was a way to lure him out without putting himself at too much risk…

Then, it hit him. Suddenly, he found himself thinking back to the time when the androids had first appeared, and remembering the stories the others had told him. According to Krillin, when they had first faced off against Gero, Vegeta had found himself in this exact same situation. Unable to sense his opponent, the frustrated prince had begun blasting the landscape apart in an effort to expose the human-turned-android, but that had only resulted in inciting Gero to dash from his hiding place and absorb the energy for himself, beginning the chain of disasters that had led to Cell's awakening.

It could have worked, though. If only Vegeta had been thinking ahead a little more…

Hovering in the air, still looking all around him, Gohan took what advantage he could of the stalemate, and began to formulate a plan. He had the beginnings of an idea, but the timing would be crucial, and he would only have one shot. He could not afford to mess this up.

After a few minutes of thinking, he finally had a plan that he thought might work. Taking a deep breath, he directed his attention to the landscape beneath him, and yelled as loudly as he could.

"GERO! Come out and face me! Or are you too much of a coward to take me on in a fair fight?"

As expected, there was no response. Sticking to his part of the script, Gohan let a few moments pass before he continued his charade.

"All right, Gero. I've given you a chance to come out and face me like a real warrior, but I guess I'm just going to have to make you come out!" Cupping his hands at his side, Gohan began to chant. "Kame…"

This particular technique was his father's specialty, and the older man had mastered it to the point of being able to control even the most subtle nuances of the attack. In his first battle with Piccolo, Son Goku had demonstrated the ability to create a fully-formed Kamehameha wave with only the use of his feet. By the time of his battle with Frieza on Namek, he had attained such fine control over the technique that he had not only been able to direct the energy, but to make it hover in place underwater until he had had time to move a sufficient distance away.

"Hame…"

Gohan was not just his father's son, he was his father's student as well. Consequentially, he had learned quite a bit about his father's signature attack, and even though he had not attained quite the same level of mastery in his lifetime, he had managed to pick up a few tricks.

"HA!"

When the wave of energy left his hands, it was traveling slightly more slowly than usual, and Gohan could only hope that he had managed enough control over the speed. Too slow, and it would tip off Gero. Too fast, and he would not be able to intervene in time.

There! A movement in the corner of his eye made Gohan swiftly turn his head. Gero had emerged from his hiding place in the rocks and was flying upward, his eyes fixed greedily on the wave of energy that Gohan had just thrown.

The instant that Gero revealed himself, Gohan phased out of sight, at the same time twisting his hands. Though he did not have his father's fine control over the direction of the wave, he did manage to throw it sufficiently off-course to buy himself a few more seconds of precious time. Phasing in and out as rapidly as he could, he managed to cover the distance between himself and the human-turned-android just ahead of his own attack.

Even as Gero was stretching out his hand, Gohan's fingers closed around his wrist, shoving his hand away so he could not absorb the blast. Bringing his knee up, he snapped the arm over his leg, leaving nothing behind but protruding wires.

Gohan managed only this much before the blast rammed into them both.

For a few seconds that seemed an eternity, the entirety of his world was a confusion of light, heat, and tangled limbs. Up and down lost all meaning in their wild tumble to the ground; he couldn't even distinguish his own limbs from Gero's.

Then, another explosion of pain as his body collided with rocks.

For a split second, Gohan's world was turned upside-down as he lurched end-over-end along the ground, shattering rocks with his body. Finally, however, he came to a halt.

His final tumble pitched him face-first into the unforgiving rocks. Groaning, Gohan raised his head and spat out dirt. His entire body felt as if it had been sandpapered. Looking up, he saw a long rut of plowed-up dirt and broken rocks, nearly parallel to the one that his own body had made, that stretched on for well over a hundred feet.

Where was Gero?

After a few seconds of frantic searching, movement caught his eye. Gero was picking himself up off of the ground a few yards away. The lower half of his damaged arm hung limply, dangling by only a few wires; occasional sparks of electricity crackled around the rest of his body.

Gohan forced himself to his feet in turn, simultaneously doing a quick assessment of his own physical state. His body was bruised and bloody, and his own rebounding attack had left more than a few burns, but he did not seem to have sustained any serious damage.

Even though Gero had technically taken worse damage than he had, Gohan was forcibly reminded of yet another one of his weaknesses when his shift of position caused grit and the rough cloth of his gi to rub painfully against the particularly badly abraded parts of his skin: Gero could not feel pain. Gohan did not have that luxury.

No. He could not afford to wallow in self-pity, nor did he have the time to nurse his injuries. Now, the most important thing was that he not let Gero out of his sight.

Gero shot a wary look at Gohan as he pushed himself to his feet. Then, he took off running towards the rocks.

_Oh no you don't!_ Gohan thought, jumping into the air to give chase. Putting on a burst of speed, he launched himself toward Gero at the highest velocity he could manage. Gero turned to look… he crouched down, placing his working hand against the ground…

A burst of energy exploded from Gero's hand just as Gohan reached him, throwing him back and raising a cloud of dust into the air. He fell back, coughing, his eyes stinging from the debris.

Gohan cursed inwardly. He could not engage in a blind chase, not against an opponent this dangerous. Instead, he rose once again into the air to resume his search by eye.

He was right back where he had started.

* * *

"Your student seems to be having some difficulty."

Piccolo turned to glare at Ahriman, who, it appeared, was once again feeling chatty. He did not answer. He might not have known exactly what Ahriman was doing, but he refused to play the Demon King's games.

Ahriman did not press for a response, but instead continued to watch with a thoughtful expression, tapping his quill against his chin as Gohan hovered above the rocks, searching frantically by eyesight alone.

"And yet, they are at the same power level," he said at last. Gohan had switched tactics, and was now blasting the tops off of the highest rock pillars, hitting them at angles that caused the falling rocks to scatter over as much ground as possible. A few more minutes of this, and the arena would be nothing but rubble. "The difference is so deceptively simple: he is invisible to one of your senses. Amazing, how much one can come to rely upon a single crutch. Amazing, how helpless one becomes when that crutch is taken away." He gazed back up, to where Gohan still hovered. "Then again, you would know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Piccolo snarled. He knew exactly what Ahriman was talking about, and it was a moment he dearly wished he could forget. "How long have you been sticking your nose into the affairs of Earth?"

"Over the past few generations, the planet that you called home has produced some of the strongest fighters in the universe, heroes and… otherwise. One in my position could hardly fail to take an interest in the planet—and in its occupants."

Piccolo did not grace that with a response. Instead, he turned back to continue watching the fight, if it could even be called that. Gohan was getting frustrated. He was exercising less caution, moving ever closer to the rubble where rock pillars had once stood in his efforts to catch even a glimpse of his opponent. For a fleeting moment, Piccolo wished he could lend the boy his hearing.

"You resented it."

Like it or not, Ahriman now had his undivided attention. Taking his eyes off of Gohan for the moment, he turned the full force of his glare on Ahriman.

"Being rescued by your student." Ahriman's tone was casual, nonchalant: he was not asking for Piccolo's input. He was stating a known fact.

"For as long as you had known Gohan, you had been the stronger," Ahriman continued when Piccolo did not answer. He rested his chin in his hand; he, too, was no longer watching Gohan search, but was instead looking directly at Piccolo. "Back then, however, for the first time in your life, you were forced to call for help. Even then, you were coming to the realization that you were falling behind, that very soon even the best of your skills would be of no use to anyone." He ignored Piccolo's growl. "You knew the reason, of course; you always did. You weren't a Saiyan. Gohan, you knew, would grow ever stronger, would continue to surpass his limits just as his father had before. When that happened, you could no longer be a teacher to him, a protector. It wasn't enough for Goku to take your father's life, and then deny you your revenge. It wasn't enough for him to steal your chance at having a place among the heroes of Earth. No, he had to steal your place in his son's heart as well. And for that, you would never forgive him."

Unable to endure silently anymore, Piccolo snarled. "Your punishment on my body, I can accept." Almost subconsciously, he glanced down at his arms, crisscrossed by scars that even his regeneration abilities hadn't been able to entirely erase. "But what gives you the right to go poking about in my mind?"

"I am right." Ahriman ignored the retaliation, continuing as if Piccolo had not spoken at all. "You were thinking almost exactly that, during his first battle with Frieza."

"Maybe I was. But what does it have to do with—"

Suddenly, out of the corner, of his eye, he saw Gohan freeze in midair, his entire body stiffening. Only a second too late, he realized the trap that Ahriman had led him into. Piccolo's stomach plunged, and he tried to call out, to explain, but his mouth was once again sealed—as was his telepathy. Gohan was looking right at him now, eyes wide with shock.

His attention was so focused on Piccolo that he failed to notice the orange blur that flew from among the rocks to latch onto his back.

* * *

Gohan thrashed about frantically, but Gero's legs were firm around his waist, and already his strength was rapidly failing. Again, that invasive presence had latched onto something inside of him, and was draining his very essence.

Gero leaned in close, putting his mouth right next to Gohan's ear. "This," he whispered, "is in payment for my arm."

Another bit of his energy was jerked, harshly, vengefully, from inside of him, and Gohan cried out against Gero's hand. He knew he had to act, and he had to do it _right now_ ; otherwise he would not have the strength. As quickly as he could manage, he raised his arm. It felt like stone, and the _ki_ flowed into his fingertips as sluggishly as molasses.

He fired back at Gero with all of the strength he could muster.

Much to his despair, his best effort was met with a low chuckle. "Is that the best you can do? Pathetic."

Then, however, much to his surprise, the hand slipped from his mouth and the drain on his _ki_ stopped. Gero did not release the hold he had with his legs, however, as he continued to whisper in Gohan's ear.

"Do you want to know a secret?" His breath was hot against Gohan's ear, much hotter than should be produced by a mere machine. "I long ago ceased to care whether your father could win against Cell, or myself. I was only curious as to how the son would measure up… but once again, you disappoint." He released his hold, and Gohan plummeted to the ground.

He did not have the strength to brace himself for the fall. His body hit the ground limp, but he bounced against hard rocks that dug into his back, tumbling several hundred yards before landing facedown on a flat patch of dirt, unable to move further.

Squinting his eyes open, Gohan saw a pair of black-and-white shoes touch down on the ground mere inches from his face. He braced himself for the finishing blow, but the only thing that came was Gero's voice, speaking once again from above him.

"Defeating you has lost all meaning for me. I cannot get what I want out of this battle." Gero turned away. "I forfeit."

Darkness overtook him before he could fully process the meaning of the words.

* * *

The landscape returned to normal as Gero turned and began walking back toward Ahriman, leaving Gohan in the dirt where he had fallen. The guards who had escorted him to the arena followed close behind, looking ready to pounce at an instant's notice, but he stopped before the Demon King's throne.

"You are quite sure that this is what you wanted?"

"Of course I am sure." Ahriman sounded annoyed. "I would not have asked it of you otherwise."

Still, Gero continued to fix the Demon King with his gaze, not flinching away from anything that could be done to him in retaliation. "I would like to know why."

"My reasons for what I do are no concern of yours, or any other prisoner." Ahriman remained outwardly calm, but Gero was pushing his limits, Piccolo could tell. "All you need concern yourself with is that, for your cooperation, I will grant you the same reward you would have gotten had you won outright."

A few more seconds passed in silence. Then, however, Gero gave a nod. "So be it." He turned on his heel, allowing the guards to restrain him without a struggle before they escorted him out.

Then, and only then, was Piccolo able to speak again. "In Kai's name, _why?_ "

Ahriman crossed his arms. "This man, several times a hero, still pure of heart in spite of all he has witnessed and suffered, was willing to relinquish his place in heaven, relive the worst moments of his life, and is now putting his very soul on the line, all for the sake of _you_. Given the sacrifices he is willing to make for you, he deserves to know what sort of person you really are."

"Punishing me is one thing," Piccolo snarled back. "But you have no right to punish him for my crimes."

"You speak of punishment? _This_ is not my doing." He made a gesture toward where Gohan lay on the ground, his mouth filling with dirt. It was a pitiful sight. "There is nothing that happens to Gohan out there that he does not do to himself."

"You would blame Gohan for your twisted games?" Piccolo shot back. He made his own gesture toward where Gohan lay. " _He_ did not choose this either."

"Nobody chooses disillusionment." Ahriman's voice was soft now, dangerous. "They do choose to cling to their own fantasies, to put their faith in the wrong people—and that is what makes it all the more hurtful when the ugly truths finally come to light."

"Yet _you_ are the one who chose to—"

" _Silence!_ " Ahriman's hair was flared upward by an invisible wind, and for the briefest of seconds, his eyes glowed red. "Who are _you_ , to pass judgment on others? You, who murdered thousands, who brutally tortured the one who had shown you mercy, who kidnapped and abused his child to your own selfish ends? Do you think that just because you developed an affection for that child, that your crimes are paid?" Suddenly, he jerked to a stop, making a visible struggle to get himself in hand. "No," he continued, much more calmly than before, "Gohan _will_ see you for what you really are. If he still wishes your freedom after that, then so be it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment where Vegeta got frustrated and started taking potshots at Gero was one of those times where I thought "Wow, that's a brilliant strategy!" ...only to realize that Vegeta wasn't trying to lure him out, he was just venting frustration. As you can see, however, I haven't forgotten that moment.
> 
> Also, since I've had at least one question about this: Namekians can scar. I'm thinking mainly of Lord Slug, who had a pretty distinctive one. My thinking here is that it can happen in cases of overwhelming damage and/or severely depleted energy, where the regenerative system just can't keep up.


	12. Duel of Lost Innocence Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "Bleeding Out" by Imagine Dragons

Gohan groaned, and rolled over from where he had fallen in the dirt. Though for the most part his wounds were healed, every part of his body still ached.

And Gero… what Gero had said…

Gero had had the battle in hand. Had he waited for even a few more seconds, he would have won by default. He needn't even have acted; Gohan had been on the verge of passing out, unable to move.

So why had he surrendered?

There must have been something that he wanted out of the fight; that much was clear. Gohan had seen enough to know that no one down here would have thrown away his only chance of getting something he wanted out of mere boredom.

Of course, he might have lied. Humiliating Gohan might have been his goal all along, and in that, he had succeeded. Gohan felt robbed of his victory; his win hadn't been fair. For once in his life, the strength of his will hadn't been enough.

He sat up, rubbing his temple. Try as he might to focus on Gero, he knew on some level that he was only trying to avoid thinking about the _other_ thing that he had learned during that fight.

It shouldn't have surprised him, really, that Piccolo had resented falling behind him in strength. His mentor was born to be a fighter, after all, and had a longstanding rivalry with his father. It must have been very bitter, indeed, to have been forced onto the sidelines while the majority of his friends and allies were still risking their lives on the field.

In many ways, he was the opposite of Gohan, born with a gift he'd never wanted…

He shook his head to clear it. There were no other fighters on the field, only the milling spectators, which must have meant that the next round hadn't started yet. Just as well, really, since he hadn't fully healed.

Gingerly, he pushed himself to his feet. His legs held him—barely—but he was immediately hit by a wave of dizziness, and was forced to support himself on the nearest available rock as he closed his eyes and took a series of deep breaths in an effort to regain his equilibrium.

A few seconds passed before he felt that he could stand unaided. Removing his hand from the rock, he took one careful step, and then another, never taking his eyes off of Piccolo. Piccolo was watching him in turn, but his mentor made no move or gesture as Gohan staggered over and sank to the ground across from him.

For a moment there was silence, and when Gohan finally spoke it was to address not Piccolo, but Ahriman.

"How much longer until the next round?"

"You ought to have a few more minutes." Ahriman's voice was completely neutral, giving the requested information but nothing more. Not for the first time, Gohan wondered what the Demon King was thinking.

Gohan's main concern, however, was not with Ahriman; he may have led that conversation, but right now, the answers mattered more to him than the questions. He only gave a nod of acknowledgement before turning back to Piccolo.

"You were telling the truth." To Gohan's surprise as much as anyone's, his voice was laced with bitterness.

A few seconds of silence passed. Then, Piccolo gave a slight nod. "Yes."

Gohan sighed, and looked away. At least, he thought, his mentor had been honest. No matter how much they both changed or—he admitted it to himself, now—how far apart they had grown, Piccolo had never once lied to him. He always told hard truths, with no sugar-coating, and no matter how much they may have hurt at the time, Gohan realized now that it was better for him to have heard them than to have remained lost in illusions.

This, however, was one truth that hurt more than most.

"It's ironic, isn't it?" Against his will, his voice had pitched slightly higher and started to waver, and he fought to get it back under control. "I keep getting stronger than everyone who wants to fight. It's like the Kais played a really bad joke on me when I was born." He was babbling, he knew, and with a gasp he forced himself to a stop before he made even more of a fool out of himself. Wrapping his arms around himself, he turned away.

"Believe me, Gohan, I would have fought for you if I could." _But I just wasn't strong enough_ , the silence afterward seemed to say.

"I know," Gohan muttered in response. _You did what you could. You taught me how to fight for myself._

Once again, they'd reached a point where there was nothing more to say. Piccolo had always been silent, speaking only when needed, and even then only briefly. Gohan was the one who talked too much, chattering away about everything and nothing, getting on his mentor's nerves more often than not. Now, he wondered whether he had been trying to fill a void.

Closing his eyes, Gohan attempted once again to find peace in a meditative trance. Try as he might, however, his mind would not settle. There were so many emotions swirling around in his head, so many regrets and fears and doubts, that even though he had stilled his body, his mind kept flitting from one thing to another, pulsating with anxiety—and, he now realized, with anger—that he could not keep down. When he had allowed his own blood to seal that contract, he had thought that the task set to him would be simple, straightforward. Instead, he had been forced through yet another bout of disillusionment… forced to fight against one of his friends… forced to relive his childhood nightmares one by one…

"It's time."

Sighing, Gohan stood, and prepared for his final battle with Imperfect Cell.

* * *

_"I suppose you could say that you and I… are brothers."_

That had been Cell's first taunt to him, and his last real stint as one of the Earth's defenders. Their first clash had culminated in the destruction of the best of Earth's army and the sacrifice of his arm, but even then, he had not been victorious. No, Cell had taken the coward's way out and denied him the chance of winning, hiding his _ki_ and growing ever stronger while the Z-fighters searched in vain.

By the time of their next battle, it had been too late. Cell had far outstripped him in power, and even though Piccolo had fought his hardest, he had nearly lost his life. His chance to be a hero had long since passed.

Now, he was watching Gohan prepare to face the same challenge at which he had failed. He stood facing off against Cell, wearing Piccolo's colors, his fists clenched at his sides. Though he was projecting an image of calm confidence, Piccolo could see the tension in his body, the slight trembling in his hands as his fingernails dug into his palms.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Not for the first time, Piccolo wondered whether the sole purpose of this tournament was to remind him of his failures.

_Come on, Gohan_ , he thought, tried to send—failed. _You just have to make it to the end of this match._

Still, they stood unmoving, Cell's tail swishing back and forth behind him. Gohan moved one foot back, lowering himself into a fighting stance.

Cell crossed his arms with a smirk of his misshapen mouth. "Afraid?"

Gohan tightened his guard. "Afraid?" he scoffed. "Of you?"

As if cued by Gohan's words, change swept over the landscape like an incoming storm. The sky turned blue. The landscape flattened. All around them now were open plains of bare rocks, with tufts of sparse grass scattered all about.

This was the first place he had failed to defeat Cell.

Both fighters' bodies tensed. The air between them almost seemed to spark.

This time, Gohan was the one to engage.

* * *

He pushed off from the ground, driving his fist forward with a yell. At the last second, however, Cell phased out of sight, and before Gohan could blink he was met with an explosion of pain in the back of his head.

He pitched forward, stars exploding in his vision. Outstretching his arms to catch himself, he felt his hands meet rough ground; tucking his head, he turned his fall into a roll and managed to land on his feet just as his vision was clearing.

Where was Cell?

Even before he was back on his feet, Gohan had started casting about with his _ki_ -sense, but Cell was an expert at hiding his presence. Slowly, Gohan turned in a circle, straining his ears, not letting his eyes rest on any one spot for more than a split second. Cell would have to show himself sooner or later. The only question was where and how.

Currently, he was standing in an open space. There were no nearby rocks or landscape features large enough to conceal his opponent. Still keeping alert for any hint of movement in his peripheral vision, Gohan looked up. No, Cell wasn't above him either. So where—

Suddenly, he was showered with pebbles as a spray of dirt hit his back. Before he had even consciously realized what was happening, he was airborne, having leaped into flight on reflex alone.

It was also reflex that led to him firing _ki_ in a sweeping arc around his body as he flew. Not having been aimed properly, most of the blasts went wide, but one lucky shot exploded against Cell's body, knocking him back down toward the hole in the ground from which he had made his sneak attack.

Cursing, Cell flipped midair and landed on his feet, leaving a new crater in the ground from the force of his landing. His tail swept out a wide arc behind him as he sprang back up, snarling with anger. Before he even got within arm's reach, however, Gohan was blasting him again.

Cell, however, phased out of sight before the attacks could connect. In the instant that he vanished from sight, he also suppressed his _ki_ , effectively disappearing from Gohan's radar.

The disappearance lasted for only a fraction of a second—but that fraction of a second was crucial. Gohan completely lost track of where Cell was. He whipped his head around, frantically searching for any sign of his opponent—

No sooner had he turned his head than something slammed into him from behind.

An explosion of pain in his back… sky and ground whirling around him in a dizzy cyclone… a chorus of jeers and catcalls buzzing first in one ear, then in the other…

Gohan struggled to gain control of his unexpected flight, but no sooner had he begun to gather his _ki_ than another sharp pain burst in his stomach. Once again, he lost his bearings as the wind from his own momentum whistled ever louder in his ears.

With an enormous exertion of effort, Gohan managed to wrench his body over. He righted himself just in time to land on his feet. Upon his landing the rock beneath him shattered, forming an extensive crater around him as shocks surged up his ankles.

Cell followed immediately after, landing in front of him hard enough to shake the ground. Unlike Gohan, he had not lost control of his flight; on the contrary, his every move was carefully planned. The force of his landing had been deliberate, as had presenting an easy target to his enemy—he was making a demonstration of confidence, and of power.

Looking up, he smirked once again at Gohan. Snarling in return, Gohan immediately lunged.

As the force of his leap propelled him forward he drew back one hand, gathering energy in his palm. As soon as he got within point-blank range of Cell, Gohan thrust his arm forward, letting an explosion of _ki_ burst forth from his palm. It blew his opponent back, but he wasn't done yet: he followed up with his knee, which met Cell's chin with a sickening cracking sound, causing his head to snap backwards. He followed that up with a deft roundhouse aimed at Cell's neck—only to overbalance when his foot passed straight through an afterimage. As Gohan struggled to correct his trajectory, one of Cell's limbs came flying at him in turn. Throwing his arm outward, he managed to block just in time, though at the cost of a pain that shot all the way up his forearm. Quickly, he turned to retaliate—but Cell threw a _ki_ blast downwards, creating an explosion of dust. Again, Gohan's energy-sensing abilities were rendered useless as Cell suppressed his signature, and Gohan was forced to fly upwards lest the dust get in his eyes.

Knowing the danger, he maintained his altitude, stretching his senses to the limit. As the dust cloud cleared, he scanned the ground for any sign that his opponent was about to emerge—but all that he saw there was a hole. Cell must have retreated back underground. It was like Gero all over again… he waited and waited, stuck in a complete stalemate, unable to take the initiative, unable to land and rest.

"Damn it, Cell!" he shouted over the wind that was now whipping through his hair. He drew his hands back to his sides. "What—do—you—WANT?"

As he shouted the last word, _ki_ exploded from his palms, spreading as it moved away from him to pepper the ground like a rain of meteorites. Wherever it hit, the energy penetrated deep into the soil, sending up a spray of rocks in its wake. It also produced Cell, who sprang up from the ground with a yelp when one of the blasts hit too close for comfort to his hiding place.

Having lost the advantage of surprise, Cell leaped back up at him with a roar. This time, however, Gohan was ready, and he flew back at his opponent with everything he had. He didn't even bother with _ki_ blasts this time, foregoing the more advanced fighting methods he had learned in favor of pounding Cell's body with a rain of punches and kicks.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten that this would also put him within range of Cell's limbs—including his tail.

He was so preoccupied with what Cell's hands and feet were doing that when the barbed tip came flying at him as well, he was completely unprepared. He hastily attempted a block, but it was too late: the tail wove easily around his arm and lodged itself deep in his shoulder, causing red-hot agony to shoot through his entire upper body as the tip shattered bone.

Reflexively, he grabbed the barbed tip that was piercing his shoulder and yanked it free. The action caused a substantial spurt of blood to shoot from the wound, eliciting an involuntary cry of pain. The tail slipped from his grasp as Cell fell back from him, smirking.

Gohan could only hover there, gasping in pain, his arm hanging uselessly at his side. He couldn't feel anything below his shoulder, but in addition to the agony of shattered bone, the shoulder itself was racked by an acidic burning, which even more alarmingly was starting to spread throughout his chest. He pressed his working hand to the wound, only for it to come away sticky with something pink and runny that was soaking through the cloth of his gi. Not good.

"What do I want?" Cell hissed, and Gohan jerked his head back up. "Why, only the same thing I've always wanted." His voice was dripping venom. "The world, Son Gohan. The world. It was my birthright, and you stole it from me. How fitting, that you should come down here of your own accord, and grant me the chance for revenge." Cell's face was sliding in and out of focus, and it was getting progressively harder to string two words together.

Apparently amused by Gohan's predicament, Cell crossed his arms with a smirk of amusement. He had gotten close once again, but did not attack even though Gohan's weakness was presenting him with a perfect opportunity. Instead, he matched his speed to Gohan's, having seemingly elected to drift downward with him. His feet were now brushing the ground.

" _Goha—!_ " The yell fell on his ears from a great distance, but it was quickly and rather forcibly cut short. Gohan knew that he knew that voice—but who was it? It was getting so hard to concentrate…

A low chuckle in front of him drew his attention back to Cell. His vision was rapidly fading, darkness gathering at the edges of his eyes, but he could still see well enough to tell that Cell had landed, and was now looming above him. How long had he been on his knees?

"B-but why…" Cell's face was sliding in and out of focus, and it was getting progressively harder to string two words together.

"Why?" A hand cupped his face, tilting his head back so that his glazed eyes met with his opponent's. "Why what?"

Gohan was still trying to bully his brain into finding the words that he needed to answer when another, equally distant voice called out from the same direction as the first.

"Time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The venom in Cell's stinger is based on how most spiders kill their prey. That's really nasty stuff if you're an insect (or, in some cases, even a mouse) caught in a web, and I figured that it'd be pretty hard to suck up people from the inside out if their innards are still solid.


	13. Duel of Lost Innocence Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: "BURN IT DOWN" by Linkin Park

Piccolo watched from his place on the ground, shaking with a combination of rage and terror, as Cell finally managed to puncture Gohan with his tail. He had once been on the receiving end of that very same stinger, and he knew full well how much damage it could do… only he had been able to rip off the withered husk that had once been his arm and grow a new one to replace it. Gohan, he knew, did not have the same luxury.

The terror only grew more acute as Gohan's _ki_ dropped like a stone, and he began spiraling down to the ground. Cell did not take advantage, but then again he had no need: whatever venom he had injected into Gohan's body was doing its job. Piccolo knew firsthand; he could not forget the deadly burning that had worked its way through his arm, rendering the limb useless as it liquefied muscle and bone from the inside out. When Cell had stung him, the effects had been localized to his arm, but it looked as if that was definitely not the case in Gohan's situation. If Cell's attack was allowed to take full effect, Gohan would die in a way from which he could never be wished back—and all of it would have been for his sake.

" _Goha—!_ " Even as he shouted, however, his jaw was clamped shut by a will not his own, so suddenly that his fangs nearly pierced through his tongue. Still, Piccolo struggled to break free, and Ahriman's stern warning fell on deaf ears as he fought body and mind against the magic that bound him to the Demon King's side.

"Time."

Gohan was on the ground now, barely clinging to consciousness. Upon hearing Ahriman's declaration, Cell looked up, and with a shrug he began to walk back toward the Demon King's throne. Gohan lay where he had fallen.

Piccolo snarled as Cell approached the Demon Queen. As she raised her hands, a glowing aura surrounded Cell. The light grew brighter and brighter, until the entirety of Cell's body was nothing more than a tall figure made of blinding light. Just as suddenly as it had come, however, the light faded: Cell was in his second form.

"Calm yourself," Ahriman snapped. "You lost your claim to righteousness before the age of three." He turned to Cell, who had approached them and was looking on with an expression of curiosity. "Whatever it is you injected him with, it had better be reversible. I have no intention of allowing him to fade at this point."

Cell shrugged. "It has never done permanent harm to anyone who can regenerate. Just heal him constantly until the poison fades, and he ought to be able to recover."

"Costly… at this rate, he might not have enough energy left to complete the challenge. Still, it seems you have left me with no choice." He waved at his Queen, who rose from her throne and actually walked over to Gohan, presumably to monitor him closely to ensure that he made a full recovery. Cell spared Piccolo one last thick-lipped smirk before he wandered to the opposite end of where the arena had once stood, folding his legs beneath him as he adopted a meditative pose.

"He might not have enough _ki_ left to finish?" Piccolo whispered just as soon as Cell had safely entered his trance. "He alone has more inborn power than most of us combined. How is it possible for him to burn through all of it in this tournament alone?"

"His wound is very grievous," Ahriman snapped. "It will take much more than a single power boost to clear the poison from his system. The continuous healing that he requires might very well use up a significant portion of the _ki_ we have been holding back."

Gohan was regaining consciousness. His eyelids fluttered but did not open, and a small moan of pain slipped from his lips as he tried to shift position. The Demon Queen, however, placed her hands on his shoulders, holding him down with surprising strength.

"For pity's sake, release him."

"Release him?" For a split second, Ahriman actually looked surprised. "You are asking me to break his contract, even though he is your only chance of salvation?"

"You said yourself that I am not worth this level of trouble. I quite agree. And you have the power to end it." He turned to fix Ahriman with a single eye. "Stop him from doing this to himself. Gohan should not suffer this much for my sake."

Ahriman shook his head. "I have no such power. Gohan signed the contract. Now he is bound by oath to see it through."

"Damn it, Ahriman!" He lowered his voice as Gohan stirred further; he could not afford to be forcibly silenced on the off-chance that his student might overhear what he had to say. "Gohan had no idea what he was getting into, and now you're just punishing him for my actions." He lowered his voice, until it was barely above a whisper. "He doesn't deserve this."

"He _deserves_ to know what you really are. The love of one so pure of heart should not be wasted on a monster."

Ahriman did not need to silence him this time: Piccolo's throat closed of its own accord, and try as he might, he could not formulate a response. Instead, he directed his gaze back at Gohan, who was finally beginning to come truly awake.

When his eyes opened all the way at last, he seemed disoriented. He looked dully about him, seeming surprised to find himself on the ground, and even more so that Jahi was kneeling beside him, forcibly holding him down. After a few seconds, however, the cloudiness gradually cleared from his eyes as he remembered where he was and how he had gotten there.

The Demon Queen stepped back from him. She made no move to stop Gohan as he sat up, but even so, he immediately grabbed his head with a grimace, squeezing his eyes shut.

It took a few minutes, but eventually the healing seemed to work on him fully. Slowly, he lowered his hands from his head. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, standing gingerly at first but rapidly regaining his confidence as his legs became more willing to support him.

He turned to face Cell, who had also gotten to his feet and was looking at him neutrally.

"I'm ready."

* * *

As soon as he spoke, the landscape changed again. Now they were standing on one of a long chain of islands, the sun shining hotly above them, the glare of its light reflecting from the clear blue waters all around.

Gohan had never been to this place. But he knew where it was.

He and Cell pushed off from the ground simultaneously, to meet in midair with a clash of auras. For a moment they pushed against each other, neither gaining the upper hand, only to phase out of sight again as they realized the stalemate.

They reappeared—Gohan swung a punch at Cell, who leaped backwards just in time to avoid it—they vanished—they phased in again, this time above a mountain—Cell threw an energy blast, which Gohan batted away with one hand—he raised his hands above his head, charging up a Masenko of his own—

Cell vanished.

Where did he—

A sudden rush of air behind him alerted him just in time to duck and roll forward, narrowly avoiding yet another stab from Cell's tail. Gohan's attack dissipated into air. Being at a slightly lower altitude now, he turned to look back up at Cell, who was standing in midair smirking, his arms crossed.

"You honestly didn't think I'd forgotten the Instant Transmission, did you? I might not be at my full potential, but that doesn't mean I'll just unlearn techniques."

"Is that so?" A warm breeze blew past, tousling Gohan's hair. "Well, I've also got a few new tricks up my sleeve."

"Oh really?" Cell cocked his head to the side. "Please, do share."

In answer, Gohan drew his hands to his side. "Kame…"

"Oh please, not this again." Cell rolled his eyes. "I thought you said that you had something new."

Gohan ignored him. "Hame…"

"Honestly. I was at least hoping you'd give me a better fight than you did when you were eleven."

"HA!"

Cell phased to the side, looking almost bored as he casually sidestepped the beam of light. He wasn't even using half of his full speed.

That was a mistake.

Gohan twisted his hands, and the Kamehameha wave changed direction in response, bending in its course to come back around at Cell. Cell turned with an expression of shock, beginning to gather energy in his own hands, but thanks to his earlier lack of enthusiasm, he was too slow, and was now paying the price. In the end all he could do was bring his arms up in a last-ditch effort to keep the blast from hitting any of his vitals, and Gohan got one last glimpse of Cell's shocked face before the wave hit him, enveloping him in an explosion.

Panting from the exertion, Gohan allowed himself to drift downward slightly. While he knew better than to believe the blast had finished off his opponent, he should have done some damage at the very least.

Ever so slowly, the dust of the explosion began to settle. As the haze in the air cleared, a silhouette faded into visibility. A few seconds later it acquired color, before gradually resolving itself into the form of Semi-Perfect Cell.

The attack hadn't done him any critical damage, but neither had he come out completely unscathed. His forearms were blackened from blocking the attack, as were his abdomen and the upper portion of his chest. One of his eyes was squeezed shut.

"You…" he panted. "You'll pay for that…"

Gohan smirked. "Just because it's an old trick doesn't mean that it's no longer useful, or that I can't do anything new with it. Besides," he continued, "as I recall, I beat you at the age of eleven."

Cell rushed forward with a roar of fury, throwing a barrage of rapid-fire punches. Gohan blocked and punched in turn, and soon both of their arms were moving so fast that they became mere blurs.

"Yes, and it seems as if you haven't trained at all since then!" He varied his routine by throwing in a kick, and Gohan, without missing a beat, turned to the side, bringing his knee up to block it. "You were the strongest warrior in the universe! The world could have been yours, had you wanted it! So why did you not fight?"

"Because I didn't want to!" Gohan went on the offensive, swinging in with a right hook that Cell easily caught. Taking advantage of his enemy's distraction, he brought his foot up and drove it into Cell's chest, sending him flying into the side of a cliff.

"My entire life, I've been forced to fight! Was it because I wanted to? Was it because I enjoyed battle, because I was my father's son? No!" His breath was now coming in ragged gasps. "It was only because I _could_. Because I was _strong_. 'Fight this enemy, Gohan. You're the only one strong enough to defeat him, Gohan. The whole world is counting on you, Gohan.' Never mind what _I_ wanted. Never mind that it was never me to save the world, it was always my father. No, it was because the only way I could ever be worth anything to anyone was if I was a good fighter!"

To his surprise, a low chuckle emanated from the Cell-shaped hole that now marred the cliff face. The laughter was swiftly followed up by a glowing light, and then an explosion rocked the island, sending rocks flying in all directions. Gohan was forced to throw an arm over his eyes, and was repeatedly shaken backward as boulders bounced off of his hastily-erected _ki_ shield.

When he was finally able to lower his defenses, it was to see that the former location of the cliff face had been reduced to rubble, and that the surrounding ocean was still churning from the maelstrom of rocks that had fallen into its surface. Trees that, only moments ago, had stood tall and majestic were now smashed to splinters, their ripped and twisted branches strewn across the smoking craters that now marred the island's surface. And, above it all, hovered Semi-Perfect Cell, who still had his head thrown back in a fit of hysterical laughter.

"What's so funny?" Gohan demanded. Inwardly, however, he noted with alarm that the damage he had done to Cell earlier was already beginning to heal, the burns fading out of existence even as he watched. If he wanted to have any chance at all of winning this fight, he was going to have to end it soon, before he took too much damage himself.

"You really are priceless, Son Gohan. Countless people in both this life and the last would happily sacrifice half of a lifespan to have even half of your raw talent, and still you refuse to use it unless forced!" Gohan didn't respond verbally, instead turning his body so that he was sideways to Cell, presenting his opponent with the smallest possible target. "Well then, I guess you leave me with no choice but to force you!"

With that, Cell propelled himself forward with a roar. Gohan, however, was ready; as Cell got within striking distance he turned backwards, ramming his elbow into Cell's face. Cell countered with another jab from his tail, which Gohan dodged; in retaliation he threw an energy blast that was batted to the side. Once again, they engaged in close combat, throwing punches and blasts in swift succession until both of their arms became mere blurs. A portion of Gohan's gi was ripped away when a ball of energy exploded against his chest; he countered by flipping to his side and driving his foot into Cell's throat; the blow sent his opponent back, gagging.

It took Cell a few seconds, but he eventually recovered, spitting to the side. "Well, boy," he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What are you waiting for? That was the perfect opportunity for you to attack, and you didn't. You do want to beat me, don't you?"

Gohan didn't answer. Even he couldn't say why he was hesitating.

"Pah." Cell used his thumb to flick one last trickle of deep purple blood from the corner of his lips. "I think I've figured out what's wrong with you. You _don't_ want to win. You can't even remember what you're fighting for, can you?"

"I—"

Before he could utter more than a syllable of his answer, however, Cell flew at him once again, cutting him off.

"Don't delude yourself, boy!" He did not seem to have tired at all, and this time, he moved so quickly that Gohan was unable to counterattack, and could only dodge his barrage of energy blasts. "You can't even figure out why he matters to you!"

"I—he—" Gohan suddenly stopped moving, hovering motionlessly in midair as the shock hit him like a ton of bricks. The opening was more than enough for Cell, who took advantage by using the brief pause to move in.

Cell's blow hit him right between the shoulderblades, and he wasn't prepared. The strike sent Gohan crashing into the sea, where he plunged downward, a swirl of bubbles rising all around him as his mouth filled with seawater.

Just why had Cell's words affected him so?

_Help_ , he thought as the undertow started to pull him down.

_Nobody would come for him…_

_Help…_

_"There will be no help!"_

His racing thoughts were interrupted when the water around him exploded in a blast of light and heat. Gohan was thrown further down into the water, tossed every which way by the ensuing turbulence, and for a minute he lost the difference between up and down, not knowing which way he would have to go to breathe again.

Another explosion. Another round of being tossed around like a rag doll. Cell must have been taking potshots, trying to either drive him out or drown him. What's more, he seemed to be succeeding: Gohan's lungs were beginning to burn, more so with each passing second, and he knew that if he didn't get air soon, he was going to pass out. That, he knew, would not do.

He had to retain consciousness.

He had to remember what he was fighting for…

His eyes flew open as he felt his back scrape against something hard. Groping about beneath him, Gohan felt rock: he had come up against the base of the island. There were still flashes from above him, followed by bursts of turbulence and heated water, but things were not nearly as bad down here.

When he had first gone under, he had suppressed his energy subconsciously. Cell did not know where he was.

Using the rock of the island to get his bearings, Gohan drew his feet up underneath him. Once he had managed to get upright again, he bent his legs, crouching down low against the floor of the sea. His body was now starting to scream for air, darkness pushing at the edges of his vision, but Gohan forced himself to ignore it for just a little longer. Instead he looked up, setting his sights on the light above and his _ki_ -sense on the energy that he could feel from Cell.

There!

With a scream that produced no sound, Gohan pushed off from the base of the island. He rocketed through the water like a torpedo, bursting from the ocean's surface in a geyser-like spray. Cell barely had time to turn around before both of Gohan's fists were buried in his stomach.

For a split second, Gohan thought he had won. Cell gasped as he was thrown backwards, a spray of dark purple blood flying from his mouth. Not wanting to lose the advantage he had gained, Gohan continued to fly at him, fists cocked to throw a flurry of punches—only to have Cell vanish right as he started swinging. He overbalanced as his fist unexpectedly struck air.

"Not bad, boy." His eyes widened as he realized the voice was coming from behind him. He tried to turn—but his own momentum was still carrying him forward. As he was struggling to regain his equilibrium, Cell's energy gathered into a point behind him.

There was a brief burning sensation in his lower back. For a moment, time seemed to slow as Gohan, looking down at his own body, saw a streak of red light come flying out of his midsection.

Then, everything from his waist downward went completely numb.

The shock alone was enough to make him lose control of his flight. Gohan fought not to fall to the ground, but as it was, his altitude slipped by a few meters before he managed to regain his equilibrium. Looking up, gasping in pain, he saw that Cell was grinning.

"But not good enough." The smirk on his opponent's face was maddening.

"You'll have to do better than that yourself!" Gohan shouted, even though his legs were hanging like so much dead weight, and every one of his movements now seemed hampered. "I'm not out of this fight just yet!"

"Maybe not—but can you hold your own?"

"Why don't you come down here and see?"

Cell complied.

Gohan crossed his arms in front of his chest just in time to block Cell's fist. For a few seconds, they struggled against each other, but then Gohan's arms began to shake with the effort. When Cell flared his aura, it was simply too much for him to hold out against, and Gohan was thrown backwards, crashing into the rocks at the base of the island.

He cried out as his already-injured back collided with the unforgiving rocks, but as much pain as he was in, he knew that he did not have the luxury of rest. Forcing his hands underneath his body, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Shifting his weight onto just one arm, Gohan channeled all of the _ki_ that he could gather into his free hand. Cell was coming toward him at breakneck speed… he had to gather enough energy in time…

Gohan and Cell fired in the same instant. Their attacks met in midair in an explosion of fireworks, an explosion which Cell flew straight through without seeming to be hindered at all. Before he could manage a defense, Cell was on him, lifting him out of the water by the front of his gi. He dragged Gohan up until their faces were inches apart.

"Not good enough," Cell said again, hissing the words in his face. Gohan didn't reply, only scowled back, his fists clenched at his sides.

"You shouldn't even have been a fighter," Cell continued. "Just look at how pathetic you are at it, even with your incredible power. Whoever taught you must be terribly disappointed."

"Shut… up!" Gohan struggled, grasping Cell's wrists, but his own arms were shaking with fatigue and shock, and he was unable to budge the other's grip on him.

"Look at you," Cell continued, paying him no heed. "Your only worth to anyone is because you can fight—and yet here you are, broken. So why did you come here again?"

Again, that question. Bit by bit, Gohan felt his strength waver. Slowly, his trembling hands lost their grip.

Sensing his advantage, Cell shook him violently. "Why are you fighting?"

"I—"

"Time."

Unceremoniously and without a second's hesitation, Cell released his grip. The shock of the water hit him unexpectedly, and when he hit the surface Gohan went under, unable to suppress an involuntary gasp of shock that brought the seawater rushing into his nose and mouth. For a few seconds that felt like an eternity he thrashed about in a panic, but eventually his head made it out of the water. He gasped for air, and promptly broke into a fit of coughing that forced him to turn facedown as he coughed and vomited the saltwater out of his system.

When he was finally able to look up again, it was to see that the sea and the islands were gone. He was back in the pits of Hell, and the only water remaining was that which soaked his clothes, in addition to the puddle he had just expelled from his body. Again, the arena was surrounded by a cacophony of catcalls and jeers.

Gohan tried to push himself to his feet—only to crumple in a heap when he found that his legs were still not working. His arms, for that matter, were almost equally uncooperative, and after a few seconds' violent shaking they gave out on him, causing him to fall facedown back into the mud.

He didn't even try to get back up again.

From somewhere off in the distance, he felt a rush of power come back into his body. At the same time, a pair of clawed, three-toed feet touched down in front of his face. Looking up, he locked eyes with Perfect Cell, who was now looking silently down at him.

"What… do you want?" Gohan growled, pushing himself up onto his forearms—the only part of his body he felt that he could trust to bear his weight at this point. Already, pins and needles were starting to make their way down his legs, which only served to increase his irritability. "The round's over. Shouldn't you be off meditating or something?"

"You haven't answered my question." Cell was looking down at him impassively with his arms crossed, his face a blank slate.

"What's it to you why I choose to fight?" He glared up at Cell. "It's not like I asked for this power."

" 'Choose'?" Cell knelt before him, so that Gohan could look him in the face without having to crane his neck. "Such an interesting word, coming from you. The way I remember it, you did not choose at all."

"That's… none of your business." Spikes of pain were now shooting up and down his legs. He tried to move, but was immediately hit by the sensation of hammers pounding on his spine. He was unable to suppress a gasp of pain.

"Oh? Given that you begged me to surrender, even knowing that I fully intended to kill your father and wipe the Earth of life, I think that it is." Abruptly, Cell pushed himself to his feet and began to pace in a circle around Gohan, who was forced to crane his neck to follow his movements. "Your strength is the envy of millions, but it is a strength you have never wanted. You are nothing like your father, no matter how much you may resemble him. Your disdain for your own gifts tells me that you were brought into this world against your will. So who brought you?"

_Who…_

_"Just tell me one thing, Son Gohan. Why do you want him free?"_

_"Come on, get up. There's no time to waste."_

_"Worth is not a thing to be determined by conviction alone—especially the conviction of one whose perception is clouded."_

_"Where am I? Where's my dad?"_

_"My worthless excuse for a brother did perish in that battle. But he did not die by my hand."_

_"Okay, that's enough! We don't have time for this!"_

_"A real friend would give me a worthy fight!"_

_"Shut up! One more sound and I'll give you something to cry about!"_

_"What were you even_ doing _on Namek anyway?"_

_"Now listen to me carefully. Your father is dead."_

_"What have_ you _ever gotten out of any of this?"_

_"Nobody helped you before, and nobody's going to help you now!"_

_"You resented it…"_

_"You were telling the truth."_

_"The only way I could ever be worth anything to anyone was if I was a good fighter!"_

_"You can't even remember what you're fighting for, can you?"_

_"…by the time you are finished, you may very well wish me here yourself…"_

Involuntarily, Gohan found himself powering up. All around his body, pebbles started to rise into the air.

"That's it." Cell grinned, and took a step back. "Release your anger, Gohan, and fight me for real this time."

Gohan didn't see the arena change, or hear Ahriman announce the beginning of the round. He didn't even notice that his back had healed. With a scream of rage, he leaped to his feet, the mere force of his power generating a wind that whipped all around the illusory landscape with the two combatants at its epicenter.

"Yes!" Cell shouted over the tumult. "This is exactly as it should have been! Give me the battle I've always wanted from you!" He stepped back into a fighting stance.

Before they rushed each other, however, Cell said one more thing, and even though he was no longer shouting, Gohan heard every word perfectly.

"This is the only way that you can be worth anything to him."

* * *

Piccolo could not move, could not speak, but still he fought in horror as Cell approached Gohan where he lay on the ground. Though the two of them were too far away for him to clearly see what Cell was doing, Piccolo's sensitive ears picked up every word of their exchange.

Slowly, Gohan's power began to build, reaching a plateau as he got to his feet. He stepped into a fighting stance, the air of Hell being whipped into a gale by the mere force of his power.

Cell said one more thing.

And Piccolo watched Gohan break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much as I love and adore the relationship between Piccolo and Gohan, it still occurred to me at some point that said relationship was rather... problematic, if looked at too closely. To be blunt, Gohan was a child soldier. He was expected to fight life-or-death battles at an age where any normal child would be outside playing. This is a thing that happens in real life, and it doesn't result in lasting bonds or in tales of heroism, but in horrific abuse and horribly broken children. And I, being me, couldn't help but explore that darker side at some point. Piccolo has realized his part in this, and has come to sincerely regret it. Gohan is only just beginning to realize it.


	14. Duel of Lost Innocence Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration: "I Want My Tears Back" by Nightwish

As quickly as it had come, the wind died down, lifting Gohan's hair off of his forehead one last time before disappearing altogether.

For a minute, the two fighters only stared at each other, Gohan's face dead serious, Cell wearing a smirk.

They lunged.

The two warriors flew toward each other at speeds faster than the eye could follow—and then, instead of meeting him at the center, Gohan phased to the side at the last second, flying right past his opponent.

Snarling, Cell phased out of sight in turn, reappearing in front of Gohan, and they clashed to a halt mere inches from the Demon King's throne, Gohan's fists held fast in Cell's grip.

"Your fight is with me!"

Gohan did not answer, only dug his feet into the dirt and pushed back as hard as he could, snarling against gritted teeth. Cell, however, held his ground.

"Do you honestly think that Ahriman will make it that easy?" Cell was now grinning with delight. "You can't touch him until you've won!" Still grinning, Cell leaned in close. "If you want to take your revenge on Piccolo, you're going to have to beat me first!"

Gohan tried to push back against him, but Cell's feet were dug firmly into the ground, and his arms weren't moving an inch. Twisting his wrists to the side, Gohan broke the hold and leaped backward, and in an instant they were moving again, rising into the air with an exchange of blows, now throwing punches at each other's faces, now aiming for vital organs with their knees or feet. Neither threw so much as a single energy blast.

"You— you—!" Gohan, however, seemed to have lost all ability to articulate. Now, he was only chasing after Cell, swinging wildly without any sign of thought or technique. Cell, however, did not take advantage of his recklessness, instead opting to casually dodge his wild punches, occasionally raising an arm to block whenever one of Gohan's wild swings had the luck to come close enough to actually hit him.

Gohan was too far gone to even notice.

His mind was lost in another time, the last time he had faced off against this very same monster.

He was eleven, nuts and bolts flying in all directions as Android 16's head crumpled beneath Cell's foot. Even as he watched, the kind-hearted android's eyes went dark, all light fading from their pupils in the instant before his head went from a thinking, conscious being to just another piece of scrap metal.

The android had no soul. He could not even be wished back.

At that moment, something in Gohan snapped. Throwing his head back, he screamed, pouring all of his rage and despair into that sound. His golden hair stood on end as lightning sparked all around his body…

_Golden autumn grass stood up all around him as he ran laughing through the fields that grew near his house. A huge figure became visible in the distance; he sprinted toward it, laughter still bubbling up from his throat, and his momentum carried him straight into the Ox King's arms. His grandfather caught him and tossed him into the air, a huge smile on his face…_

He was thrown to the ground, immediately followed by a multitude of boulders that all landed on top of him, blocking out the light. Again, he powered up with a scream, and the rocks that had been trapping him flew to pieces…

_His mother smiled with delight as she lifted the bouquet of wildflowers from his hands… he had picked them because he knew they would make her happy…_

Cell grabbed his wrist, forcibly pushing his hand away and knocking the energy that he had been gathering into thin air…

_He lay curled in his mother's lap, her hand gently stroking his hair…_

Cell's fist crashed against his forehead, sending him tumbling backward end-over-end along the rocky ground. After a few turns, he somehow managed to halt his momentum, landing on his feet, and immediately pushed off against the ground again, driving himself toward Cell with a snarl…

_He was playing in the woods, leaping from rock to rock in a game of balance…_

He phased from side to side to avoid Cell's blasts as he rapidly got closer to his enemy…

_He splashed delightedly in the stream behind his home, pushing waves of water back and forth at his father, squealing with delight as he was splashed in turn…_

He braced himself as Cell's overwhelming wave of energy broke against his _ki_ shield…

_He sat atop the Nimbus, his father's arms around him, delighting in the wind that rushed past his face…_

Wind rushed past his face as he flew once again at Cell, fists cocked back for yet another blow…

_He sat by himself in a forest grove, legs swinging back and forth over the edge of the large rock on which he sat, his focus absorbed in the book that lay on his lap. Reaching the end, he closed the book and set it aside, turning his head upwards to enjoy the warmth of the sun on his face…_

He threw back his head, screaming in agony as Cell's arms tightened still further around his body, squeezing the air from his lungs…

_Drawing back his tiny fist, he plunged his hand aimlessly into the water, trying to catch the fish that were flitting about just below the surface…_

Drawing his hands to his side, he gathered his _ki_ into his palms, racing against time as Cell mirrored his gesture. "Kamehameha!"

Their yells were simultaneous. Likewise, their respective beams left their hands at the same instant, and met exactly at the halfway point between them. Gohan struggled, his arms trembling, but he and Cell were evenly matched. He shoved more of his power into the beam, only for Cell to mirror his actions from the other side.

This wasn't going to work.

Gohan pulled his hands away, leaping into the air just as the beam broke, and Cell's wave completely engulfed the spot where he had just been standing. Cell followed.

They were in the air now, sparks of lightning crackling between them as they met in combat with fists and blasts alike. Cell dodged to the side; Gohan followed him, and he phased out of reach again; their battle became a deadly dance, a whirlwind of flying fists and feet that brought them up high into the skies of Hell, and then plummeting once again to the ground below. Their impact threw up a blinding, choking cloud of dust that nevertheless failed to muffle Gohan's incoherent screams of rage.

Slowly the dust cleared, and the sounds of repeated impacts resolved into the sight of the two combatants locked fist to fist in the middle of a large crater. Both of their arms were trembling with exertion, but Gohan was the only one whose entire body shook uncontrollably.

"Why!" His glare, brimming over with anger and hurt, was not directed at Cell, but past him, to the spot at the foot of Ahriman's throne. "Because of you—!"

It had all begun with his father beaten to the ground and Krillin thrown through a wall by a stranger who claimed to be family…

…locked in a tiny pod, unable to do anything but watch and listen to muffled screams of pain as his uncle stomped brutally on his father's already-broken ribs…

…his anger building, until he burst from his prison to retaliate against his father's attacker… _he_ would never have taken notice if not for that…

…afterward, waking up to cold water, his first sight a green monster that told him his father was dead and that the next year of his life would consist of a brutal training regimen in the middle of the wilderness, his only company the hungry dinosaurs and his father's worst enemy…

_You can't touch him until you've won!_

The battle of the present was not the one that he wanted to fight. Instead, Gohan disentangled himself and tried to slip past Cell, propelling himself toward the base of Ahriman's throne. Cell, however, was too quick, and interposed himself between them just in time to catch Gohan's energy blast in his own fist. His face gave a small twinge as the blast sizzled against his flesh, but he held his ground. Gohan, determined not to be denied, continued forward with his assault, only to be blocked much more directly when Cell caught both of his fists in his own.

"Let—me—through!"

"Your fight is with me! I have waited over a hundred years for this battle! You will fight me, willingly or not!"

"Get—out—of—my—way! This doesn't concern you!"

"All of this concerns me!" Cell shot back, still holding Gohan's fists, not giving an inch. "I have been languishing down here since your first victory against me, and I will not be denied my greatest reward!" Leaning in close, he whispered into Gohan's ear. "If you want to get to him, you're going to have to come through me."

For anyone looking at Gohan at that moment, it was possible to see his anger building even further. Rocks began to rise into the air around him as his aura built up, producing discharges of electricity all around his body. With a furious roar, he threw Cell away from him and up into the sky, chasing after his opponent with his fists cocked back.

"I—never—wanted—this!" Gohan pushed off from the ground so hard that he left a crater behind him. He was now swinging his fists with such speed and ferocity that his hands became mere blurs, and even Cell with all of his skill could barely manage to dodge or counter in time. In spite of this, Cell was grinning.

"That's it!" he shouted over the wind of their momentum and the whistling of fists through air. "Fight me with all of your anger! Give me the battle I've always wanted from you!"

Gohan did not even seem to hear him. Even though all of his blows were flying at Cell, his eyes were still focused on a spot on the ground below them, and on the person who occupied it.

"Everything I've been through—all the pain I've suffered—none of it would have happened, if it weren't for _you!_ "

His first battle…

His father's friends, all brutally murdered…

Yamcha, unmoving in a crater on the ground, his uniform tattered and covered in blood…

Chiaotzu, gone in an explosion of fire…

Tien, one arm ripped from his body, screaming as he was slammed into the unforgiving rocks…

Nappa, flying at him through the air, murder in his eyes…

A blinding light and a burning heat, headed straight for him…

"You made me lose _everything!_ Again and again, I've lost my father, I've lost my friends, I've lost my _childhood_ , because of _you!_ _You_ made me fight, _you_ made me suffer, it's because of _you_ that I had to go through everything that I did!"

_If you hadn't taught me…_

After that battle, the journey to Namek, the long months of cold loneliness, unable to sleep in the cold spaces between the stars…

_If you hadn't died…_

_"What were you even doing on Namek, anyway?"_

Endless daylight after the endless dark, cowering like worms in whatever shadows they could find, ever fearful of those more powerful who were swarming just above the surface…

_If you hadn't asked me to bring you back…_

The long, bloody beatings handed out to him and Krillin from seemingly every fighter under the suns, never mind that all he had come for was to wish his teacher back to life, never mind that he was only five…

_…I never would have been here today…_

Again, he screamed, powering up enough to send Cell flying away from him. The element of surprise didn't last, however, and even though Cell's body was now littered with dark bruises, he righted himself quickly and flew right back into the fray. This time, he had a mad glint in his eye. This time, Cell wasn't holding back.

Hard punches landed on seemingly every part of his body before he could even blink, but Gohan didn't even try to block. He took the punishment and flew right back at Cell, swinging his fists in turn. His blows were uncoordinated, wild; not all of them landed, but those that did created deep purple bruises on contact. Some of Gohan's blows drew blood—but so did Cell's, and many more of those were hitting their target.

Gohan didn't notice. He was no longer seeing Cell at all.

_…he was five, pain shooting through his stomach as his body contorted itself around Recoome's knee…_

_…he was five, and Krillin had just hit the ground in front of him in a bloody heap…_

_…he was five, locked in a life-or-death battle against his own father…_

_…he was five, gaping in horror at the long, black horn that had forced itself out of Krillin's back…_

_…he was five, his face pressed into the dirt, loud cracks echoing in his ears as his skull began to cave under Frieza's foot…_

_…he was five, his nostrils nearly overwhelmed by the stench of burnt flesh that was coming from Dende's unmoving body…_

_…he was five, and right in front of him Vegeta was vomiting blood, tears of pain and humiliation streaming down his face as Frieza hit him again… and again… and again…_

_…he was five, staring into the cold blue eyes of his father, his hero, who had just transformed into a stranger…_

_…he was five, and King Kai's distant voice was telling him that Namek was no more, and that his father had not managed to escape the planet…_

_…he was six, and Porunga was telling him that his father had refused to be wished back to Earth…_

_…he was ten, reeling from the shock and the sting of the blow where his father's fist had connected with his cheek… that was the only time his father had struck him outside of training…_

_…he was eleven, and his father's words were suddenly coming at him from a great distance… he was the only one who was strongest to defeat the newest monster that was threatening the Earth…_

_…he was eleven, his eyes following the arc made by the senzu as it flew, the senzu that his father had just tossed to the monster he was about to fight…_

_…he was eleven, and the head of kind, gentle Android 16 was crumpling to scrap metal right in front of him…_

_…he was eleven, power surging through his body…_

_…he was eleven, his golden hair standing on end…_

_…he was eleven, and lightning sparked all around him…_

_…he was eleven, and there were tears running down his face._

"I warned you! I warned you not to push me too far! And now, you're going to pay for all that you've done! You need to suffer for your crimes!"

He returned to the fight, his cheeks wet with saltwater…

Gohan, however, had used up so much of his energy in his sustained outburst of rage that his reserves were nearly depleted. He was exhausted and outmatched, and punches rained down on his body…

He never would have been forced into this world…

The next blast that he threw was easily dodged, and Cell's fist landed painfully against a preexisting bruise… the bruises that he had dealt Cell earlier were already more than halfway healed…

It was all because of him…

He and Cell clashed in midair, their auras sending out shockwaves that flattened the land around them…

If not for him…

Gohan managed to block the next blow, but his arms were now shaking, no longer with rage, but with exhaustion. He did not have the energy to counter when Cell's foot swept out and struck him across the face.

He was falling…

Blood spurted from his mouth as he was thrown further backward by a blast of _ki_ … Cell was rapidly shrinking as Gohan fell away from him…

Then, however, Cell was suddenly right in front of him, keeping pace with him as he fell. He eyed Gohan with a look of extreme disappointment.

"As always, you give in far too easily. This is never the fight I wanted from you." Cell brought two fingers to his forehead. "I don't know what you came here to prove—but you have proven that you are no longer worthy of me, or anyone." _Ki_ began to spark around his fingertips. "I'll at least end this with something you can remember him by."

_I was never worth anything to anyone, unless I could fight…_

Gohan closed his eyes, ready to be ripped to shreds by his mentor's signature attack.

* * *

Back on the ground, Piccolo was fighting.

He knew, from many hard years of prior experience, that Ahriman's magical barriers were impossible to break—but that didn't mean he wasn't willing to kill himself again trying. That Gohan might leave this place with nothing but hatred for him was a possibility for which he had braced himself the moment his student had appeared at the door of his cell, wearing his colors. But that Gohan might not leave this place at all… that was a possibility he refused to allow, whatever monster or demon king stood in his way.

He clawed frantically against the barriers Ahriman had set in his mind, coming up against a wall that was featureless, smooth, and harder than Kachin. Still, he continued to fight, ignoring Ahriman's warnings, bruising and bloodying his mind as he threw himself against the blockade that held his psyche hostage.

Then, Gohan fell.

Sometimes, the merest of seconds will seem to last an eternity. Piccolo could see every gust of wind that blew Gohan's hair wildly about his head, every drop of blood that ran upward from his mouth and from the wounds on his body, seeming to hover above him only because it could not fall as fast as he did. Above him, Cell's mouth opened and closed, but Piccolo's formerly excellent hearing seemed to have failed him. Now, he could only see, see the deadness and despair that lingered in Gohan's eyes, see the _ki_ that sparked around the two fingers Cell held to his forehead. Gohan had nothing left; Piccolo could feel it. He had burned through the last of his reserves in his earlier outburst of anger, and Cell, now bored with an opponent who posed no challenge, was about to put an end to his afterlife with the very same attack Piccolo had designed to put an end to Gohan's father.

Even if he had always denied it, in some small measure, he had, in his darkest hours, longed for a death without pain, and somewhere, in the back of his mind, he had entertained the smallest of hopes that someone might one day come to his rescue. In that moment, however, Piccolo ceased to care at all what happened to him. He no longer even cared whether the only person he had ever truly loved now held only hatred for him in turn. He had to save the closest thing he had ever had to a son from the fate that was now threatening to overtake him.

Sometimes, if an obstacle is by definition insurmountable, then all one need do is change the definition.

Piccolo made the connection.


	15. The Ultimate Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration: "Turn Loose the Mermaids" (instrumental version) by Nightwish

Gohan blinked.

Gone were the gray skies, the perpetual clouds, his second death staring him in the face. Instead, he was now sitting in the lush grass of a wide green meadow, open skies stretching above him on all sides and a series of rock pillars visible in the far distance: the edge of a wasteland.

Behind him, there was the sound of cloth snapping in the breeze, but Gohan did not turn around. He already knew who it was.

"Come to have one last chat with me before I die again?" He was breathing heavily, every lungful of air a ragged gasp, but he no longer even had the energy to be angry: all of the anger had been burnt out of him during his fight with Cell, and now he only felt empty. "Haven't I done enough? What do you _want_ from me?"

A few seconds passed before there was the sound of another voice exhaling, and then a deep baritone spoke from behind him. "The same thing I've always wanted, Gohan."

"I see." _For me to be_ _strong_ _._ He pulled his legs up against his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Is this telepathy?" he asked, not truly caring about the answer, but needing to keep talking, because he feared what would happen if he stopped.

"No."

"What, then?" _Keep talking. Just keep talking._

"I… don't know. But the two of us have a bond, and it's something that no magic can break. It is what allowed us to meet in this place."

For a time, there was silence. It might have been a few minutes, or it might have been an hour. As always, however, Gohan was the first to break.

"I just want to know why you did it."

A few seconds passed with no answer, but then, there was another sigh, followed by the rustle of cloth from behind him. "Come with me."

The cloth rustled again, followed by the sound of footsteps moving away. Still, he did not move. Gohan had already spent his childhood following orders; could he not even have a few minutes of respite here?

Then, however, he relaxed his hold on his knees. He knew that Piccolo would not check whether he was following, but trust him to do it or not, as he saw fit. And he could defy the expectation that he would, but where would it get him? Not out of here, certainly, wherever "here" was.

With a sigh, he got up and walked in the same direction that Piccolo had gone. The tall green figure was already far ahead of him, but Gohan did not hurry to catch up, nor did Piccolo look back to see where he was, or slow down to wait for him. The distance between them was deliberate on both of their parts.

Their walk took them out of the meadows and into the nearby wasteland, and then out on the other side. Grass gave way to sand beneath his feet, and the sun shone brightly from a cloudless sky, but Gohan's legs failed to ache from the distance they had traversed, and he didn't so much as break a sweat from the hot sunlight. Unlike Ahriman's illusions, this place did not seem quite real.

Gohan did not know how long they walked, but the farther they went, the more the landscape changed. Desert sands gave way to sparse shrubs, and then to lush grass. The grass grew steadily taller as they walked on; by the time they came to the forest glade, it reached nearly to Gohan's waist.

Piccolo stopped at the edge of the trees. Gohan, approaching him at last, saw that he was staring intently ahead through the leaves.

"What are you—"

"Look."

There it was again. Another order. Still, Gohan had demanded answers, and it seemed as if this was the only way to get them. In spite of the raw sense of betrayal that still lingered in his heart, he still knew that some things were better shown than told. He turned his eyes.

In between the leaves, there was a flash of light. Gohan leaned in close, parting a few brambles so he could peer through the foliage.

He saw a Namekian child. His small fangs were bared as he gasped for air, and sweat ran in rivulets down his face, but even as Gohan watched he brought up his hand, _ki_ already charging in his palm. A blast flew from his fingers, shattering a nearby rock to pieces.

Briefly, Gohan looked away, and back at Piccolo. "Is that… you?"

Piccolo nodded. He was still watching intently, his gaze not on Gohan but on the child in the clearing.

Gohan looked back. The child had now fallen to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but even as they watched he laid a hand on the ground and pushed himself to his feet once more, energy sparking around the fingertips of his free hand.

_He's going to drive himself to collapse…_

Compulsively, Gohan found himself stepping forward. The child needed to stop training, he needed to rest… but before Gohan could take so much as a step, before he could open his mouth to protest, some invisible force stopped him in his tracks. This was a memory. He could not interfere.

The young Namekian gave one final cry—composed of equal parts of triumph and pain—as the blast flew from his fingertips in an explosion of blinding light that was almost—but not quite—a corkscrew. Another rock shattered, sending shrapnel that did not touch them flying past their faces.

When Gohan's vision cleared, the child was lying on the ground, his face buried in the leaves. He did not move further, but the steady expansion and contraction of his chest at least gave indication that he was alive.

Both continued to watch in silence as the sun set. As the last of the dying rays slipped beneath the horizon, the child stirred. His fingers twitched slightly, digging into the dirt. His face turned, his eyelids fluttering. A few minutes later he came fully awake and pushed himself to his feet, his eye ridges drawing downward in an expression of annoyance. Taking a fighting stance, he once again began to charge up a blast.

"You did that… every day?"

"From the day I was hatched, for the first three years of my life. I had no time to waste in my training to take revenge on your father."

"Why?"

The word tore from his mouth before he could stop himself, and it was far from a single question he was asking. _Why did you need to train so badly?_ _Why did you hate my father so much?_ _Why did you have to do that to me…?_

Piccolo turned his back on the grove, his arms crossed. "Because my father left me no choice."

"You didn't _have_ to!" Gohan argued, his resentment boiling to the surface once again. "Your father wasn't there, he couldn't check to see whether you were carrying out his wishes. It's not like my father would have come chasing after you for revenge." He looked at the ground, breathing heavily. "You could have walked away."

"No," Piccolo said flatly. "I couldn't have. Because I did not know that I could. Before I met you, I was not even aware that there was another way to live."

Gohan opened his mouth—only to find that no words would come out; anything that he would have said seemed to be caught somewhere in his throat. For once, it seemed, he was the silent one, and Piccolo was doing all the talking.

"I am not offering excuses," Piccolo continued, taking a step forward, away from his past.

"Then what are you doing?"

Piccolo stopped. He was still only a few paces away, but he did not turn around. "You wanted answers. My debt to you is still owing, but I can give you that much, at least."

"Answers as to why you stole my childhood?" Addressing that back was like yelling at a rock, and Gohan silently willed Piccolo to move, to turn around, to show emotion, to give any sort of opening for Gohan to hurt him as he had been hurt, but he stood as still as a statue. "Because you never had one yourself? That was your excuse!?" He took a step forward, and Piccolo's shoulders stiffened, but still he did not turn. "Because you didn't even know what it was. Heck, to you, the way you treated me was… normal…"

Suddenly he stopped, sinking to his knees as he buried his face in his hands. "We're both just so messed-up, aren't we?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about." Finally, Piccolo had turned; Gohan could tell from the projection of his voice, but he did not look up. As much as he had wanted it only seconds ago, he was now afraid to see what sort of expression his old teacher was now wearing on his face. "But from the first day of my life, I knew… that I would never be able to be like you."

A few minutes of silence passed before Gohan lifted his head from his hands. Piccolo was now standing beside him, not looking at him, but off into the distance, toward the horizon. The sky was still painted with streaks of red and gold, but the light was rapidly fading. Still, they stayed in their respective positions, neither speaking as the sky faded from gold, to blue, to black. One by one, the stars peeked into existence, beginning to spin in their slow circle overhead.

"You'll have to go back at some point, you know."

Gohan raised his head, which he had allowed to drop back down onto his knees. "Why? I didn't have more than a few seconds, and we've been here for hours. For all we know Cell could already have finished me off."

"No. Time doesn't exist in this place. That I'm sure of."

"Oh." Gohan allowed his head to sink down once again. For some reason, this piece of information produced no reaction from him but a mild, almost academic interest—nothing more. His mission, the contract, the duels—all now seemed to be part of a completely different world, a world to which he wasn't sure he was ready to return.

"Gohan."

The tone of Piccolo's voice prompted him to look up. It was difficult to see in the dark night, but he could tell that Piccolo had his face turned upward, toward the sky, and that his eyes were closed.

"I know that I have lost all right to ask. But… there is one last thing that I want you to do for me."

Gohan didn't ask. He waited. That was one thing that Piccolo had taught him to do very well. It was just as well, as a few minutes passed before his former teacher spoke again.

"I want you to survive this battle."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" Gohan turned away, to look at the ground. "Cell has me. I don't have any time to turn the tables."

"There is… one thing that you have time to do."

It took him a moment to figure out what Piccolo was referring to. As soon as he did, however, he leaped to his feet, looking his mentor in the face for the first time since their strange meeting had begun.

"You're telling me to surrender?" he demanded. Once again, he felt his anger rising—after everything he had gone through, all of the effort and pain and blood he had put into his trials, Piccolo was asking him to just throw it all away? "If I do that, everything I went through will have been for nothing at all!"

Piccolo shook his head. "I am not trying to cheapen your suffering. All I ask is what I've been asking all along: for you to consider whether what you're trying to gain is really worth the sacrifices you'll have to make. It seems as if you've decided it isn't." He looked away. "As such, there is no good reason for you to continue fighting."

No good reason…

The reason he had been willing to risk life and limb from the age of five…

The reason he had descended into the depths of Hell…

The reason he had offered his soul in return for another's…

The reason he had fought, and continued to fight, through all of the pain and the painful memories, even though it would have been much easier to simply surrender…

…against all logic…

What it was he had to gain…

No. What he had to lose.

The reason…

…was love.

"I have considered." Piccolo only continued to look at him, not showing any expression, only to hear what he was about to say. "And you're right, it's not a good reason." He paused, taking a deep breath. "It's the _only_ reason."

It was only thanks to the fact that they knew each other so well that Gohan managed to catch the slight look of surprise in his mentor's face.

Guessing the most likely reason for it, Gohan lowered his head. "I still can't—I mean, you _hurt_ me, Piccolo! You hurt me more than anyone else ever has." He looked back up. "But even after all of that, I can't…" He wiped his eyes. "I still can't wish eternal suffering on you."

"Gohan… why?"

Heat rose to his face as he considered the question—articulating his emotions was something that he was almost never asked to do, and certainly not by Piccolo. "I know you tried to warn me, and you were right. I really do think it's better that I know the truth, but the fights brought back and lot of bad memories, and then Cell kept pushing me, and I guess I just lost my head—"

"No." Piccolo was still watching him, but his expression was not stern. If anything, it was close to amazement. "You've seen the truth now, seen what I've done to you—and yet you still think that I am worth saving?"

"Yes." It was far from logical—but then again, this had never been about logic. "I—" Gohan shook his head. "The truth is, whatever you've done, you're still someone I care about. And that's all there is to it."

It was difficult to see, but he thought that he saw Piccolo smile slightly—even if it was a little sad.

"You are still the innocent child you always were. How amazing, that you are able to forgive even me." He turned away. "But I am paying my debts there—just like everyone else. You cannot carry that burden for me."

"But Piccolo, we're friends—family! That's what families do—they help each other out!" He was speaking in earnest now, louder, willing his voice not to break with every syllable.

"You will remember me with kindness now. That, for me, is more than enough."

With those words, Piccolo did something that he had not done since well before the Cell Games, when Gohan was still a child: he reached forward, and gently laid a hand on Gohan's head. Gohan was temporarily shocked into speechlessness, his mouth still open and ready to frame an argument that he did not know.

"It's time for you to go."

With the hand that still rested on his head, Piccolo shoved him backwards—

Gohan could not halt his fall as gravity took hold… Piccolo was falling away from him, still silhouetted against that sparkling night sky… and still farther, much farther away than his head was from the ground… his body gave way to weightlessness…

—and suddenly the aches and pains and bruises of his fight hit him all at once. He was back in the arena, hurtling toward the ground as Cell hovered above him, light pulsing around the fingers that were still held to his forehead.

Even amid the shock and disorientation of his return to the arena, Gohan found himself growling.

"You have no right to that technique." With an push of sheer willpower, Gohan forced himself to a stop midair. "Why don't you take a lesson—" he mirrored Cell's gesture, "—from someone—" _ki_ sparked at his fingertips, "—who _earned_ it!"

Gohan and Cell thrust their arms forward at the exact same instant.

Two corkscrews of light, spiraling in opposite directions, met dead-on in the center of the arena. For a moment, only a moment, they seemed to struggle against each other. But Gohan was pouring his heart and soul into his beam, and after a mere split second of struggle it shot straight through Cell's, scattering it to the far reaches of Hell in a blinding flash of light. A brief look of surprise crossed over Cell's face before it rammed into him in turn, punching a hole straight through his body. Still, Gohan did not stop, but continued to pour in every ounce of energy that he could dredge out of his exhausted body. His arms began to shake, but still he did not slacken his efforts; if anything, he doubled them. The beam widened in turn, and its light grew steadily, casting stark shadows over the floor of Hell. One last burst of energy, and it exploded outward, ripping Cell's body to shreds.

There was a collective gasp from all of the demons below him. For a moment even Ahriman was speechless, and when he did find his voice it was faint with shock—the first true emotion he had shown since Gohan had met him.

"T-the winner of the match is Son Gohan."

Gohan was gasping for breath as his feet touched earth, but he was also soaring on a wave of elation. _He had done it!_ Whatever happened next, he was content in the knowledge that he had saved his mentor from an eternity of torment. Slowly, ignoring the dark cloud that was gathering at the edges of his vision, he turned toward Piccolo, and smiled.

* * *

Once again, the Cell Games arena gave way to the ordinary drabness of Hell—and Piccolo felt the magical restraints dissolve into air. For the first time in decades, he could move freely, unfettered in mind and body alike. He nearly let out a gasp of pleasure as his stolen _ki_ came rushing back into his body. It was almost like coming back to life.

And the reason… Hardly daring to believe it, Piccolo turned his eyes to the middle of the arena, where Gohan had just landed, panting with exhaustion. Nevertheless, he saw Piccolo looking, and smiled.

"I… did it."

Then, without warning, Gohan's eyes rolled back into his head, and his body went limp as he pitched forward in a dead faint.

Piccolo barely managed to catch him in time. For a moment he could only stare in horror at his student slumped over in his arms—unmoving, dead weight. He quickly snapped out of it, however, and turned to the Demon Queen.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he demanded. "Give him back the rest of his _ki_!"

_There is nothing to give back._ Jahi had no physical voice; she spoke in his head, her tone as emotionless as a block of ice. _I have already returned everything that is his._

Unable to do anything else, Piccolo gently lowered Gohan's limp body to the ground. He was no healer—he could not even offer senzu this time—but nevertheless assessed the damage as best he could.

Gohan's gi—an exact replica of Piccolo's own—was ripped to shreds. The entire left half of the top had been torn away, as had both pant legs from the knee down, leaving a good deal of Gohan's skin bare—and every visible square inch was covered with deep purple bruises, or obscured by smears of blood. Even his face had taken on an ashy, grayish cast. His breathing was shallow, his heartbeat thready and faint.

_No… it wasn't supposed to be like this…_ Desperately, Piccolo took hold of Gohan's shoulders and began to channel his own newly-restored _ki_ into his student's body. No matter how much he gave, however, Gohan's breathing continued to fall off, and his heart seemed to jerk more with every beat.

"That won't work."

Piccolo didn't turn around. He already knew that it was Ahriman behind him, and that the Demon King was only here to rub in his failures—again.

"He is beyond help," the other continued, ignoring Piccolo's stubborn silence. "The only thing you will accomplish that way is to end your own afterlife in turn, and by doing so you will defile everything for which he fought. He has earned your freedom," Ahriman continued, his voice laced with as much contempt as Piccolo had ever heard. "You are free to leave. Go wherever you please." With that, he turned away. The crowds of spectators were already beginning to disperse, leaving Piccolo alone with the broken body of his student. If only there was something—anything—he could do…

There was.

It was a long shot, and he didn't even know whether it was possible, with Gohan. He'd be damned all over again if he didn't try, though—fighting against impossible odds had all been part of the day's work in his life.

Piccolo ceased his outpouring of _ki_. Instead, he laid a hand on Gohan's chest, directly over his heart. As he allowed his breathing to become one with his student's, he began to gather his energy.

_Gohan_ , he thought, _I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you wanted—but I hope that someday, you will be able to forgive me._

As Piccolo prepared to do what he knew he must, he remembered a small boy who had given a Demon King the chance to be a hero. He remembered a rival turned ally turned friend, who had always accomplished the impossible simply because he had never allowed anyone to tell him that he couldn't. Most of all, however, Piccolo remembered a dying warrior, who had offered to give not only his life, but his very existence, for the sake of the one he loved the most.

* * *

To those who were watching, the first noticeable change was a wind that sprung up, its epicenter in the middle of the arena. At first it was the merest fluttering breeze, but its intensity grew with each passing second. Even Ahriman, who was already halfway out of the arena, turned suddenly as the wind ruffled his hair, his eyes widening as his gaze fell on the scene that held all of the remaining spectators at rapt attention.

There, in the center of the arena, were two figures, one kneeling, eyes closed, hand resting gently against the other's chest, an inexplicable smile on his face. Little by little, the two began to give off a golden glow—at first merely a faint luminescence, it grew until it encased their bodies entirely, and shone with an intensity so great that those who still watched were forced to turn away in order to save their eyesight.

Then, it was over. As quickly as it had come, the wind died down. Slowly, the various demons and imps who were present realized the blinding light was gone and lowered their hands from their faces, blinking to clear away the spots as they looked back to the center of the arena and those who had occupied it.

There, where there had been two, there was now only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit I was rather unsatisfied with the way this chapter turned out; I'm still not convinced the reconciliation didn't happen too fast. But this is probably a thing that's better fixed in a revision further down the line.


	16. Tears from a Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration: "Rest Calm" by Nightwish

His head swam as he slowly returned to consciousness. Groaning, he pressed a palm against forehead—even the act of moving his arm required bullying his sluggish muscles into cooperation. There was a dull pounding in his temple, and his entire body ached.

_What happened?_ He was disoriented, and felt as if he had just woken up from a hangover—except he didn't drink. He had no memory of where he was, or how he had gotten there. All that he knew about his surroundings was that the ground underneath him was hard.

Wait—ground?

Then, in a rush, it all came back to him. The journey to Hell… the contract… the series of battles that had followed… and then, Piccolo…

_Piccolo!_

Unable to explain the jolt of dread that shot through his stomach, he nevertheless lurched upright with a gasp. Looking frantically to the left and right, he frantically assessed his surroundings. Standing around him on all sides was a motley assortment of demons and imps: denizens of Hell. In sharp contrast to their earlier behavior, however, he heard from them not a single jeer or catcall. Instead, they were one and all staring at him with varying expressions of shock, awe, or disbelief.

Piccolo was nowhere in sight.

_What exactly happened in that last fight?_ He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to put the pieces together. _I won; I know that I won. Piccolo was sitting right there. What then?_

He had fainted, of course. There was no other reason for him to be lying on the ground. He knew he had been hurt very badly in that last fight. Slowly, he looked down to take stock of himself. His gi was so torn up that a good half of his upper body was left bare, and he could clearly see every cut and bruise—but there was something else that stood out even more. There, directly over his heart, was a mark in the shape of a hand.

A hand with one finger fewer than his own…

Forgetting his injuries, Gohan shot to his feet. There, on the edge of the arena, was Ahriman, staring at him with more shock than all of the other spectators combined.

Gohan covered the distance between them in a flash, phasing directly in front of the Demon King. "What happened?" he demanded. " _What did he do?_ "

"I—" For once, however, Ahriman seemed to have lost the ability of speech. Grabbing two handfuls of Ahriman's clothes, Gohan lifted him off his feet, shaking him violently as he did so.

" _How do I bring him back?_ "

The Demon King, however, shook his head. "Put me down," he said quietly, seeming to have regained some of his former authority. "Nothing you do to me is going to change what happened." Shocked at his own actions, Gohan slowly released his hold.

"There is nothing you can do for Ma Junior that you have not already done," Ahriman continued, brushing himself off with dignity as his feet touched the ground. "He made his own choice, and you can no longer separate him from yourself. Go home, Son Gohan." There was no anger in his voice—but neither was there any hint of compassion. "You do not belong in this place."

Shaking, Gohan collapsed to his hands and knees in the center of the arena. Piccolo, gone… gone because Gohan had insisted on saving him… because Gohan's conviction had not been strong enough… because Gohan had not been able to live up to his word…

For a few minutes—or it might have been an hour—he could not muster up the will to move. The thought of returning to face his father and Krillin, of being forced to tell them that he had failed, made him feel as if his limbs had turned to lead. In the end, however, he was on his hands and knees on the floor of an arena in the heart of Hell, and even though the crowd of spectators had long since dispersed there were still various individual demons milling all around him, many of them stopping to stare, and staying to be the subject of further gawking was the more painful choice. Somehow, he managed to drag his legs underneath him, and from there to push himself to his feet.

When he left the arena, Gohan did not fly. He went on foot, no sound following as he put one foot in front of the other, every movement a new test of will. He kept his eyes firmly on the path ahead of him. Looking back, he felt, would only make everything real.

The endless gray landscape of Hell spread out before him, seeming to go on forever even though he had traversed the whole thing with ease only that morning. Or had it only been that morning? It seemed like it had been much longer. Maybe it really had. For all Gohan knew, he might have been down here for years, leaving his friends and family up in heaven to wonder eternally what had happened to him…

The thought brought him once more to his knees, fingers digging uselessly into the hard stone ground of Hell.

_I can't…_

Almost subconsciously, a ball of _ki_ began to gather in the palm of his hand.

_I can't… do this…_

Throwing back his head, he let loose a scream to the uncaring skies.

_I can't do this!_

Before he even knew he'd planned it, his hand was moving, not toward an oncoming opponent, but inward, aiming for his heart. When he was mere inches away from his target, however, his arm jerked to a stop of its own accord.

It was almost as if someone had grabbed his wrist…

All at once, memories and visions flooded into his mind. Piccolo, giving him a smirk of approval when he finally managed to get in one good hit… Piccolo, tears gathering in his eyes for the first and last time as he told Gohan that he was like a son… Piccolo, reaching out by the light of a dying fire to gently touch his head…

_I'll always protect you, kid._

_How do I know about that? I was fast asleep._

Slowly, Gohan allowed his hand to drop and the _ki_ he had been gathering to dissipate harmlessly into thin air. _He wouldn't want that…_

Somehow, he managed once again to get to his feet. It was even longer before he succeeded in forcing his legs to move, to drag him step by painful step the rest of the way back across Hell's barren landscape until he returned to the gate where he had come in.

For a few minutes, he simply stared up at it, breathing heavily. What was he going to say to the others? How was he going to will himself to say anything at all? What was the point in even returning to Heaven, now that Piccolo would never be coming with him?

Once again, his arm moved without him willing it to do so. Stunned, Gohan could only follow it, tears still gathering in his eyes, as his hand stopped just short of the door. Those last few inches would be his to cross, and his alone.

_I'll always be with you, kid._

He couldn't stay here forever.

Sighing, he crossed the distance.

The marks on his arm glowed briefly once more, burning into his flesh before dissipating into nothingness. Slowly, the door swung inward, revealing once more the barren space where he had come in.

Taking a deep breath, Gohan forced himself to stagger forward, taking the final few steps that would forever remove him from Hell. The clang of the door shutting behind him sounded like a death sentence.

Standing outside with his eyes closed, ignoring the startled exclamations of the guards, he opened his telepathic link with his father.

_< Dad, can you come get me? I… I'm ready to go home now.>_

_I_.

It should have been _we_ , _us_. Even as he thought it, however, his father appeared out of thin air before him, holding two fingers to his forehead.

For a moment, they only looked at each other: Gohan, still battered and bruised, his clothing ripped and covered in blood, with a mark on his skin that hadn't been there before; across from him, his father, Earth's greatest hero, comprehension dawning on his face as he realized that this was the one thing from which he'd never be able to protect his son.

He didn't comment on Gohan's condition. He didn't even ask what had happened. Instead, he opened his arms.

At that, the dam finally broke and Gohan collapsed into his father's embrace, and the sobs that he had been holding back throughout the entirety of the return journey tore their way from his throat. His entire body shook, and his eyes burned as every breath caused his chest to heave in a ragged gasp. No longer having the strength of body or mind to stand on his feet, he felt his legs give out from underneath him, only to find that a pair of strong arms was holding him up. He continued to sob uncontrollably as the other man lowered him gently to the ground, their arms around each other all the while.

For the longest time they both simply knelt there, Gohan sobbing into the front of his father's gi while the other man held him tight.

Had he been more attentive, he would have noticed the drops of moisture falling onto his head from above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a short transitional chapter. Anyway, two more to go and we're done! Next we get to see the aftermath with the other Z-fighters.
> 
> Also, I don't know why I've been having such a hard time with these last few chapters. Maybe I don't know if I'm getting the emotional impact to come across just the way I want it.


	17. Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration: "Lights" by Ellie Goulding

"So… um… how is Gohan doing?"

Goku gave a sigh. It had been almost a month now, and Gohan still wouldn't tell them what had happened. The only time he'd even come close to speaking of it, the first time Goku had seen him after he'd emerged from the gate, he had only managed to choke out between sobs, "I lost him… I lost him…"

"I don't know, Krillin. I just don't know."

* * *

In a far different part of Otherworld, Gohan lay unmoving on his bed. His hand, tangled in the folds of his shirt, kept clenching and unclenching as if of its own will.

When his father had brought him back, he and the others had tried everything in the afterlife to distract him. They'd tried to engage him in games, meditation, light sparring—but silly entertainments now seemed pointless and shallow, his roiling mind would not let him focus, and the very idea of fighting made him sick.

Once, Krillin had even made the mistake of inviting him to fight in a tournament. It was an invitation that nobody ever repeated.

After a time, they'd given up, and now seemed to have resigned themselves to considering it a success if they even managed to get him to _join_ them for a few minutes. Several times now, his father had coaxed Gohan out of his room and brought him to a meal that had been laid out in the Grand Kai's mansion. It was everything even the most gluttonous Saiyan could ever dream of—meat of every variety cooked in more sauces than he'd thought existed, curries, noodles, sweet buns—yet while his father and the others had dug in with gusto, Gohan had only been able to stare, unable to bring himself to take even a single bite. In the end, he had pushed out his chair and walked away without eating anything, ignoring his father's and Krillin's calls for him to come back.

Now, he couldn't sleep either. The only thing he could think of anymore was his failure: he'd lost Piccolo—his mentor, his best friend, his second father—Piccolo, who'd insisted all along that Gohan was doing the wrong thing, that he had earned his place in Hell… if Gohan had not gone to save him, then he would not have sacrificed himself…

His hand clenched once more, nearly ripping the cloth that lay over his heart. He had the memories now, damn it! Their fusion had left him with firsthand knowledge of every sacrifice Piccolo had made for him, every bit of love that he had had for Gohan, and Gohan hadn't—been—able—to—repay—him! In a surge of self-loathing rage, he released his shirt and drove his fist instead down into the unfortunate mattress, breaking the bed clean in half and producing a fissure that split the floor right down into the heart of the planet. There was a burst of startled exclamations from outside at the miniature earthquake that followed, but Gohan paid them no mind. He was far too deep into his grief.

A familiar _ki_ was outside of his room in an instant, and then his door was flung open, his father standing panting in the frame. His eyes roved wildly around for a few seconds before settling on Gohan, who hadn't even bothered to move, his will to action so sapped after the outburst that he could do nothing but lay there, still tangled in the splintered wood and twisted sheets. "Gohan? Gohan, what happened?"

Gohan, however, only shook his head, burying his face in the bedding, and his father stopped in his tracks.

"Leave me alone."

* * *

He didn't even know who he was anymore. Sometimes, it was almost like Piccolo was there with him, saying gruffly that he was still there and that everything was going to be okay. Other times, he would forget his own name, would look at his skin and be surprised at the color.

Company was something he both craved and feared. Though the others had long ago given up on the attempts to get him to spar, his father had finally convinced him to come outside once in a while and observe their training, to get some fresh air if nothing else. As long as no one tried to talk to him, he was fine with that. He didn't want to talk—but he also didn't want to be completely alone with himself right now. He couldn't have said why.

Today, however, he started to get an inkling. One minute he was watching Krillin and Yamcha chase each other up and down across the sky, the next he was doubled over where he sat, sweating, his limbs shaking and jolts of remembered pain pounding up and down his chest.

_…Cell… Goku… Gero… PiccoloFatherNappaFriezaDemonNO—!_

It felt like he was lost in a haze of fear and pain for several days before he finally managed to drag himself back to the present. He was breathing hard, his skin cold in spite of the warm sunlight on his back, his fists clenched so tightly on his knees they nearly ripped the cloth of his pants—yet he was still completely and utterly alone, and in spite of the fact that he wanted absolutely _no one_ to talk to him right now, resentment surged through him at the thought that they hadn't even noticed his hours or days of agony…

Yamcha hit the ground in front of him, sending dirt clods flying into his face and leaving a substantial crater. Looking around, he saw that Pikkon and 18 were also exactly where he'd last seen them, attempting to get the drop on Goku by double-teaming him, and that Tien was still somewhat farther away, meditating under a tree.

_It… it was only a few_ _ seconds _ _?_

"Woah, sorry about that, Yamcha!" Krillin came gliding in as Yamcha picked himself up out of the dirt. "And sorry I got dirt in your face, Gohan," he added in a voice much more subdued as he noticed the other casualty of his enthusiasm.

"It's fine." Getting up, he brushed the dust from his clothing. "I shouldn't have been sitting so close anyway." He turned around and walked away from the training grounds without another word.

* * *

"So I guess he's not coming?"

The statement was hopeful, more than half a question, but Goku shook his head, aware that the others were also listening in—Yamcha had paused in his stretches, and Tien had his third eye fixed on their conversation. "Not this time, I'm afraid."

"Well, we just need to give him his space, I guess. He'll recover in time." Krillin gave a small sigh. "I hope…"

"Anyway, there's nothing we can do," Yamcha said, coming up to join them. "Let's… let's just try to enjoy the tournament, okay?"

"Yeah, looks like it's all we can do. Goku?" Krillin's eyebrows drew downward in concern as he looked over at his best friend; even Goku's impenetrable cheeriness had all but disappeared after Gohan's return. "Are you ready to go take a look at the lineup?"

The group of them made their way over to the magical board that displayed the contestants' names. As they were getting an idea of who might fight whom, however, a jolt went through everyone at once.

Goku felt it first. His head snapped up and he stared straight ahead, for the moment not quite daring to look behind him even though he knew that that was where the disturbance was.

That _ki_ …

Not for nothing, however, was Goku known as Earth's greatest hero. No matter how powerful the being he was facing, he was not a coward. He turned around.

There, still far back from the rest of them, stood a figure in purple. A blue belt fit snugly around his waist. A white cape snapped out behind him.

Gohan glared out at them from underneath a white turban with no recognition in his eyes.

"Oh, shi—"

Yamcha didn't even have time to finish his sentence before he was slammed into the sidelines by Gohan's blow. The spectators rose to their feet, screaming; the Grand Kai's calls for order were ignored.

All at once, everyone who could fight rushed Gohan in an attempt to restrain him; most were blown away by the mere force of his aura. Pikkon was one of the few who made it through, and got ahold of him from behind, but only managed to hold on for a few seconds before he was thrown against the wall hard enough to leave a spiderweb of cracks. When his body finally peeled away, he fell to the ground where he lay crumpled, unmoving. Android 18 met with a similar fate. Krillin, after a few seconds of trying to revive his wife, took off flying at top speed away from the battle.

"Gohan, stop!" Goku's hair flew out behind him in a golden stream as he powered up to his highest form. Within seconds he was on top of his son, pinning him to the ground.

"You don't want to do this!" he shouted, searching his son's face in vain for any sign of recognition or remorse. "You're not—"

Gohan growled, and Goku was thrown away from him with such force that he slammed spread-eagled into the wall, the shattered masonry holding him up for only a few seconds before it crumbled, and Goku fell to the ground to land beside Pikkon's unconscious body. His hair faded to black as he slid the rest of the way down to the grass, where he lay in a crumpled heap.

* * *

Yemma looked up at the scuffle that seemed to be taking place behind the doors. "What's going on out there?" he demanded. "Can't you see that I have work to do?"

All at once a diminutive human burst through the crowd, over the protests of the guards. Yemma nearly gaped at his audacity as he made a beeline for the desk, levitating so they were face-to-face.

"Wait your turn at the end of the line," Yemma ordered, regaining his composure. "I'm busy—"

Krillin slammed his hand down onto the surface of the desk, so hard that it shook. "This is an emergency!"

* * *

Looking up through dazed eyes, Goku saw his son standing before him… then, his vision blurred and doubled, briefly resolving into twin images of Gohan and Piccolo, making identical gestures. He nearly laughed. Gohan had surpassed him even before their deaths, and now, with Piccolo's strength augmenting his own, he was nearly unstoppable. If nothing else, he thought, his first mortal enemy was about to get his dying wish.

Gohan raised two fingers to his forehead, and _ki_ began to spark around the tips in a pure, deadly ball of light. The light…

Goku turned his head, not wanting to watch his second death at the hands of his own son but unable to do anything to stop his fate. Even as he turned away, however, his mouth was moving, whispering the words that he hoped Gohan would someday remember:

" _I forgive you._ "

* * *

_Ki_ rushed to his fingertips in a surge of power that was just waiting to be released. Finally, after all these years, he was ready to finish off his mortal enemy at last. The man on the ground was broken, weak; his lips moved (in one last desperate attempt to beg for mercy, no doubt), but Goku's pathetic ideals would not save him now. He lowered his hand…

…only to find his arm tugged away by someone else. Snarling, he struggled to point at Goku once more, but the other person held him with an iron grip and would not let go.

"Dad, what are you _doing?_ "

What was that name this person was calling him?

His arm was released. Immediately he moved to point it at Goku again, but then the person's arms were wrapped around his neck.

"Daddy… please come back to us…"

Irritated—but still troubled by that twinge of recognition—he looked down, if nothing else to see who would _dare_. A head of black hair met his eyes, and a face with the same shape as that of the man who lay crumpled before him… with the same shape as _his_ face…

_Pan!_

Suddenly, he recognized his daughter. Then, it all came back to him: his death, his redemption, the fusion… With a gasp, he allowed his hand to fall and the gathered _ki_ to dissipate harmlessly into the air.

"I… I almost…" Unable to hold himself up any longer, he collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands. Pan stayed beside him all the while.

Even as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, however, there was another presence in front of him. A hand was laid to either side of his head. From the moment of contact, he felt another consciousness working its way into his mind. Instinctively, Gohan ( _was_ he still Gohan?) pushed back, but the force was insistent. A barrier began to go up around a certain part of his mind.

_No!_ he thought. _That's the only part of him I have left…!_

Gohan began to truly fight now, thrashing about in the confines of his soul, but the other mind was insistent, and skilled, and had already gained a good foothold. Even as he realized what was happening, the barrier was closing around the last part of his mind that had once been Piccolo.

_No…_

Even as he fought, however, he saw his father crumpled on the ground with blood pooling at the back of his head, saw the terror in his daughter's wide eyes even as she held him tight, saw Krillin kneeling beside the motionless body of his wife as he begged her to hold on. All of this, he realized, was _his_ doing. No—it was _their_ doing.

With a sigh of resignation, he stopped resisting.

Darkness slipped into his eyes, and he fell to the ground in a dead faint.

* * *

_"What did you do to him?"_

_There was a landscape around him, and people, he knew, but none of that could seem to penetrate the thick fog in his brain. He sat listlessly in a mental void, listening to the voices come to him as if from very far away._

_"I put up a barrier in his mind. The part of his soul where Piccolo now resides has been completely closed off."_

_"If some of Piccolo's memories are going to cause him to go berserk like this, I suppose it's for the best. But Dende… it won't affect Gohan's mind permanently… right?"_

_A few seconds of silence passed. Then, Dende spoke again._

_"He is… unstable. Piccolo was already hosting three minds in addition to his own. What's more, fusion between Namekians is rare enough. What happened here is simply… unheard of. There's no telling what other side effects will manifest if his mind is left as is."_

_"But the barrier will stop that, right?"_

_"The barrier is not a permanent solution. I can't maintain it forever. Sooner or later, it will break, and when that happens, there's no telling whether something like this will happen again, or if anything in this life or the last will be able to stop him a second time. As long as Gohan resides here, and as long as Piccolo's mind is a part of him, all of Otherworld is in danger." A pause. "There's also… something else."_

_"What?"_

_"All that Piccolo was is now a part of Gohan's mind. In sealing away Piccolo, I am essentially cutting Gohan off from a part of himself. While I maintain the barrier, he cannot be a whole person. In essence, I have impaired his ability to feel."_

_"So what can we_ do _about it?" His father's voice was now frantic._

_Several minutes of silence followed this time. When Dende finally did speak, his voice was hesitant._

_"There is… one solution. But it's generally only used as a last resort."_


	18. Another Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration: "The Crow, the Owl and the Dove" by Nightwish  
> (Yeah, I was listening to Imaginaerum a lot while I was writing this. Deal with it.)

A pair of black loafers stirred the dust of Hell as a lone visitor made his way ever farther into the Demon King's realm.

Nothing bothered him. The denizens of this place had come to respect him, or at the very least to view him with great fear—which one, he didn't know, and didn't much care. His thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

The guards looked at him a bit oddly when they opened the prison door for him, but they did not ask questions, and one of them led him to the back of the cell block in spite of his obvious misgivings. Once he had been escorted to the cell he had requested, the guard turned his back and walked away, leaving him alone with its occupant.

"What did I tell you about pity, boy?" There was no emotion whatsoever in Vegeta's voice, though even so he was looking out through the bars with an intense stare that Gohan could not read.

"I'm not here to pity you, Vegeta. I just want to talk."

Vegeta turned back to the wall with a disdainful snort. "So talk."

Gohan opened his mouth—but found that the words would not come out. He couldn't even remember what he had wanted to ask.

After a few minutes had passed and he had still found nothing to say, Gohan turned around and sank to the ground with his back against the bars, without a single care for what the ever-present dust of Hell would do to his formal clothes. Maybe, he thought, it would be easier to talk when not faced with Vegeta's new scars, or his accusing stare.

It wasn't. More minutes passed, and still not a single word would come to him. For all Gohan knew, the minutes might have become hours, or even days or years; it was impossible to tell time in this place. Even with all of eternity before him, however, he could think of nothing to say—he could not even remember what it was he had wanted from Vegeta, or what it was he had wanted to offer.

Eventually, Gohan came to the realization that he wasn't going to. With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. He almost apologized for wasting Vegeta's time—but then closed his mouth with a snap as he realized how ridiculous that statement would have been. He turned to go.

"He never screamed."

Gohan whirled around, turning to face Vegeta for the first time since he had entered the prison. Vegeta was meeting his eyes as well, his black-eyed gaze as intense as Gohan had ever seen it.

"Not once, no matter what they did to him. He refused to give them the satisfaction."

_Sometimes, it's all you have left to hold onto…_

As he and Vegeta stared back at each other, Gohan found himself wondering what the other man was thinking. _Is he disappointed in me, for failing to live up to my Saiyan pride? Angry, because I lost him the only friend he had in this place?_ Gohan didn't know—he had never been able to truly read the Saiyan prince. Instead, he turned away with a nod of thanks, allowing the guard to escort him out.

* * *

"Can I talk to you?"

Looking up from the base of the massive rock in whose shadow he was seated, Gohan saw the Kai who had first helped him plead his case before King Yemma. He gave a brief nod before looking back down at the grass.

"Believe it or not, I know what you're going through." The Kai sat down cross-legged on the grass opposite him, so they were face to face—or would have been, at least, if Gohan could have found the strength to look up. "I've seen souls beyond count pass through this realm, Gohan, and there was not a single one who reached this plane who hadn't had to leave behind someone they loved more deeply than life itself. You are far from the only one who has suffered."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Gohan gave a harsh laugh—he had nearly stopped at asking whether that was supposed to make him _feel_.

"No." In spite of Gohan's harsh tone, the other's patience never wavered. "The only thing that will do that is time." Somehow, Gohan knew that the Kai had also heard the response that he hadn't spoken, but he did not answer that question, instead looking off into the distance.

"Barring a death by violence, a Kai lives forever," he continued softly. "We have each other, but we may also care for mortals, and no mortal has ever been able to outlast us. Some of us break from the grief. Others… fall." For a moment, he paused, closing his eyes. "Eventually, those of us who make it come to realize that the only way through is to learn how to live again."

Gohan stood up. "Thank you for your time."

It was a clear dismissal. His companion, too, stood, letting out a sigh. "I am sorry I was not able to help."

Gohan nodded; he could at the very least acknowledge the attempt. When they parted ways, he was no worse for the encounter… but he did not feel any better, either.

* * *

When Trunks died, he was there.

Gohan's father was the one who picked him up, but Gohan stood at a distance when his father materialized back in heaven with the younger half-Saiyan in tow. He watched as Trunks looked from side to side, an expression of eager anticipation on his face. He watched as Yamcha pulled Trunks aside, watched while everyone else quietly cleared away, watched as the son of Vegeta fell to his knees.

He couldn't watch anymore.

Somehow, Gohan managed to stir himself enough to get up and walk over, coming to stand before the man who was now on his hands and knees on the grass. He locked eyes with Yamcha; they exchanged a nod, and the former bandit walked away.

"Trunks."

The younger half-Saiyan turned to look up at him with intense blue eyes. He didn't speak, and he didn't need to: Gohan could read that expression without the aid of words.

"Trunks," he repeated. "Get up."

"So what do you want?" Trunks demanded even as he dragged himself to his feet. "Are you going to tell me you know how I feel? That everything will be okay, even though my father—!"

"No. But I do know exactly what you're planning to do. I'm not going to try to stop you," he continued, cutting off Trunks as he opened his mouth, "but I have something to tell you first. Now you can either hear me out willingly, or I can hold you down and shout it in your ear, but you are not going down there until you've heard what I have to say."

For a moment, Trunks stared at him intently, breathing hard, and Gohan feared that he would have to follow through on his threat. Then, however, he folded his legs beneath him and sank down onto the grass.

Gohan sat down across from him. He cleared his throat. Then, he told Trunks everything that had happened since the day of his death.

It was the first time he had told the full story to anyone.

When he had finished, Trunks was no longer glaring or lashing out in anger and helplessness. Instead, he nodded, and stood with a look of determination on his face. Gohan rose with him.

"You're still going to go." It wasn't a question.

"Of course—!"

Gohan knew better than to attempt to discourage him; he only let out a sigh. "I'll wait for you outside."

True to his word, he accompanied Trunks first to Yemma's courtroom, and then to the gates of Hell. He watched as Trunks passed through the gates, clad in Saiyan armor. As the massive doors closed, Gohan assumed a lotus position and settled down to wait.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he felt something twinge at the back of his mind, calling him out of his meditation—hours, days, or centuries, time had long since ceased to have any meaning for him. Standing, he faced the gates, steeling himself for whatever it was he would see when they opened.

When Trunks returned, it was unconscious on Vegeta's back. His armor was cracked, the spandex beneath it ripped and bloody, every visible patch of flesh stained dark with bruises.

But he had survived, and he had accomplished what Gohan could not.

Meeting Vegeta's eyes, he exchanged a nod. He accompanied them back up and watched the celebrations as Vegeta was welcomed to heaven, but couldn't forget the hole that seemed to be boring into his own heart.

* * *

"Gohan."

Looking up from his contemplation of the grass, he saw that his father had approached him while he was pretending to meditate. The other man's demeanor was hesitant, cautious—as if he were afraid of what Gohan would do if not approached with care.

"I meant to ask you this earlier, but… would you like to see Videl? Regular people aren't granted their bodies permanently when they die, but heroes still get the special privilege of seeing their loved ones. I've been to see your mother a few times, and… well, I thought you might like to do the same."

The offer didn't bring him the rush of joyful anticipation it once might have. Still, the thought of seeing Videl again touched something in his mind, a place he had been starting to fear was gone forever. "Yes," Gohan said quietly. "Yes, I would like that."

Again, he was met with a gate, and guards. But this time, there was no hesitation, no distrust or fear. They simply waved him through.

When Gohan stepped into the flowery meadow, he was met by a wisp of mist that immediately condensed into the form of his wife. Smiling brightly, she held her hands out to him, and Gohan took them, allowing her to lead him into her realm of heaven.

At first, they simply walked together among the flowers. They didn't speak. They didn't even touch. He let Videl lead.

At last, they reached a place where a flowering tree grew next to a stream. There, she turned to him, and held out her arms.

She did not ask what was wrong.

Gently, she wrapped her arms around him, and allowed him to bury his face in her neck. She did not attempt to give any reassurances or advice, only offered him comfort.

Videl would know exactly the right thing to do. After all, she was one of the two people in the universe who knew him better than anyone.

Had been…

It was impossible to tell how much time they spent simply relaxed in each other's embrace. The only thing they both knew was that it was not yet time to talk, and it was not yet time to pull away. So they stood there indefinitely, for hours or days or maybe even years, resting in their own pocket of sorrow amidst the meadows of Heaven.

It could not last forever, though—a century was as far removed from eternity as was a minute. Videl accompanied him back to the gates, and at the entrance she continued to clasp his hands until her solid form dissipated into air and she became a formless wisp once more.

* * *

Sitting on the bank of a river of Otherworld, Gohan watched the sunset. After months (years? decades?) of aimless wandering, this was the only place he had managed to find in the entire realm with a changing sky and a sun that moved, and he now spent most of his time here. When he was here, he managed to feel just the tiniest bit alive.

"Gohan."

Not even the sound of his name was enough to catch his interest, to make him look up. When he cast his gaze to the side, however, his peripheral vision revealed a pair of deep blue boots that were standing on the riverbank beside him.

"Your mother and I have talked. And if… what Supreme Kai told us about… is what you need to do… you have our blessing."

Mustering up the energy to discern the meaning of the words, much less give an answer, was more than he could manage at this point. Instead, he returned his gaze to his knees. When he looked again, the boots were gone, leaving only a pair of deep impressions that slowly filled with water.

Little by little, the sun sank behind the horizon, and the sky slowly darkened behind it. Eventually, all was black, and the stars wheeled overhead until the sun rose again, casting his long shadow out in front of him, and arced across the sky. Heat pounded down on his neck. Soon enough, however, the sun had reached the other side of the river once again, spreading brilliant colors over the sky.

Gohan smiled.

* * *

"Are you sure that you want to do this?"

" _If you use it, he will effectively be dead to you. Not just for a lifetime, but for the rest of eternity._ "

Gohan looked around him, at the double doors of the Check-In Station, at the giant desk before him, at the red ogre impatiently tapping his quill against his chin, and, finally, at the group of his loved ones (or at least, those who no longer lived) all gathered here in this one spot.

He turned back to Dende. "Yes." The word was firm with conviction. "I'm sure."

The Guardian of Earth showed neither approval nor disappointment, only reached a hand tentatively forward, but pulled back right before making contact.

"Go ahead and do it," Gohan reassured him. "I won't lose control." He spoke the words with the conviction of knowing them to be true.

Though he looked slightly dubious, Dende nodded nonetheless. Reaching out, he placed a hand to either side of Gohan's head. Their minds touched, and this time, Gohan did not fight back. The barrier dissolved as if it had never been.

Once again, he was whole.

The conflict, the war, was still going on inside of his head. There was still a demon inside of him, an angry, unloved child who wanted nothing more than to lash out and _hurt_ everyone in his immediate vicinity—but this time, Gohan was in control. He could not fail to be, knowing that he was about to attain peace at last.

Smiling, he turned to face the group behind him, though tears were now standing in the corners of his eyes.

Krillin was the first to come forward, and he didn't so much step out as leap up and latch onto him, sobbing. Knowing that there was nothing he could say, Gohan did not speak, only patted his back as his shoulders shook with the force of his weeping.

After several full minutes of sobbing onto Gohan's shoulder, Krillin pulled away, rubbing a forearm across his face. "I'm going to miss you, bro."

"I know. I'm—" Before he could finish, however, he stopped short. To complete the sentence would have been a lie.

Krillin seemed to understand. With one last nod and one last squeeze of Gohan's shoulder, he retreated back to his place within the group.

Bulma was next. "I remember the first time I ever saw you," she said, tears running down her face. "You were so little—and now look at you! So grown up! I only wish…" At that, however, she too lost her words, instead stepping forward to wrap her arms around his neck. Gohan patted her on the back for a few minutes before she stepped away.

When she had backed off, Vegeta stepped forward to take her place. The two of them stared each other down for a few seconds, but then the Prince of all Saiyans held out his hand.

"What I said to you down there—I'm holding you to that, boy. See that the Namek gets his warrior's due."

"Don't worry, Vegeta. I will." Vegeta seemed satisfied with that; he gave a curt nod, and they released their grasp.

Trunks was quickly there to take his place. He did not offer his hand, and his speech was short.

"If not for you, I would have lost my father. Thank you." When he returned to the group, he pushed Goten forward, and his younger brother stepped up to him, one hand behind his head.

"Aw man, look—I was never good at this sort of thing. But I just wanted to say… thank you. You were the best brother a guy could ask for." He held out a hand, but Gohan grasped it for only a few seconds before, by mutual silent agreement, they pulled each other forward, wrapping their free arms around each other's backs. They stepped apart.

His father came forward next. At first, they did not speak, but after a few seconds he reached out, pulling Gohan into his embrace.

"I know I haven't been the best of fathers," he said. "There were so many times that I should have been there, and I wasn't. But you always came through no matter what life threw at you, and Gohan… I am so proud of you." They smiled at each other, teary-eyed, as they pulled away.

Now came the hard part.

For a few seconds, he and his mother only stared at each other. Then, however, she rushed forward, throwing one arm around his waist and using the other to repeatedly pound on his chest.

"After all of this time—all of this effort—and where do your loyalties lie? Not with your father, not with me, it was always with _him!_ That—that _demon!_ "

Gohan could not answer her. He could only rub her back and mutter "I'm sorry… I'm sorry," over and over again. At least five minutes passed before she was able to stop sobbing into his chest, and stepped back.

"I never wanted you to grow up," she said softly. "But you did, too fast, and I—I—" She wiped her eyes. "If you need to do it, do it!" She turned away then, back to his father, and collapsed into his arms in turn, sobbing. His father looked down at his mother for a few seconds, an expression of confusion on his face, before turning back to Gohan.

"She'll be okay," he mouthed through her halo. Gohan nodded, albeit a bit sadly, before preparing to say his final farewell.

Videl left the crowd to stand in front of him. For the first time that day, Gohan's throat closed, and he found himself unable to speak. What, exactly, was he supposed to say?

For a few seconds, neither of them moved or said a word. Then, however, Videl reached forward and grabbed the back of his neck. Pulling him forward, she pressed her mouth to his.

"You have a good life, Son Gohan," she said fiercely after they broke apart. "Don't put us through this just so you can squander your next chance."

Gohan nodded. "Don't worry, Videl," he reassured her. "I will."

Giving him one last nod, she turned and strode back to her place within the group.

He turned to Dende.

"Gohan… this is the last time that I'll be able to ask. Are you absolutely sure that you want to do this? Once you've made the decision, there is no going back."

"Yes," he said, with even more conviction than he'd spoken before. "I lost my innocence too early and he… well, he never had any at all. I think that this is the best for both of us."

Finally, Dende nodded, accepting his decision. "Well, there's no point in putting it off any longer. Follow me, Gohan. I'll be seeing you again soon."

Abandoning all resistance, Gohan allowed Dende to lead him forth into the light.

* * *

Cries echoed throughout the room as the newborn child was brought into the light.

"Oho!" a booming voice echoed. "This is a strong one, that's for sure!"

A pair of strong hands lifted the child up, examining him to get his full measure. Already the boy had stopped crying, and stared back at the person holding him with a pair of black eyes that seemed to pierce right through the soul.

"I see," the voice said, turning from jovial to serious. "This one is an old soul."

"And just look at his chest!" Further exclamations were heard as the blood was cleaned away, revealing the pattern on the skin just over the child's heart. "I've never seen a birthmark like that before! It looks like a hand."

"Almost," someone else pointed out. "But look, it's missing a finger."

"Well, one thing's for certain." Again, the baby was hefted into the air, so he could look down on the entire room. "You are destined for great things, little one!"

* * *

Somewhere in the realm of Otherworld, an orange-clad, spiky-haired figure turned away, a sad smile on his face.

"I know you'll make good use of your second chance, Gohan, Piccolo. At least now, the two of you can be together."

_Always._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished at last!
> 
> Sorry about the long wait, but I really got stuck on a couple of chapters back there. I have also been toying with the idea of a sequel, telling the story of Gohan and Piccolo's reincarnation and his friends, but it would be rather epic in length so it will be quite some time before it comes out even if I do decide to write it.

**Author's Note:**

> I have taken some liberties with the structure of Otherworld. While I've tried to explain some of these changes within the context of canon, others I'll just have to put down to artistic license. It was kind of necessary for the plot.
> 
> As much as I take issue with Goku on some counts (and believe me, I do have issues with him), I just cannot see him getting jealous over something like this. Besides, I think that he already knows. I'm going by his and Piccolo's brief conversation when he was getting ready to return to the afterlife during the Buu arc - "He thought of you as family, you know."
> 
> I will also be trying something a bit new (for me, at least), and providing an optional soundtrack - which makes sense, as a significant chunk of the story was inspired by music.


End file.
